


Justice, My Love

by wenchofthewest



Category: Downton Abbey, Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent - Fandom
Genre: Depression, Excessive Drinking, Gay Bashing, Homophobic Language, Love Tested, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison, Revenge, Romance, Us Against System, Us Against World, Violence, aftermath of rape, angst with happy ending, implied rape, unjust laws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6198733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenchofthewest/pseuds/wenchofthewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over a year since the Thirsk Fair, and Thomas and Jimmy's friendship has blossomed into much more.  But when Jimmy is the victim of a brutal gay bashing and can't get justice, it triggers a chain of events that changes the course of his and Thomas' lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jimmy Kent flicked his cigarette stub at Thomas Barrow, who saw it just in time and dodged it with a hiss.

"Wha-?" Thomas looked at Jimmy. They were standing in the courtyard, where they always took their smoke breaks.  
Jimmy lowered his head and grinned that cat grin, lips curling up at the corners. His blue eyes danced behind his blond hair, which had fallen across his forehead. He looked at Thomas and quirked his eyebrows in that way of his, laughing silently.

Thomas felt his insides twist and thought his heart would melt. How did this man, this boy-man, control him so? Everything about him--his looks, his voice, his scent, the way he moved--affected him like a drug. Better than a drug, actually. He was absolutely helpless in all dealings with Jimmy...and loving every minute of it.

"Cheeky...." Thomas smiled and took a long drag off his own cigarette. "Someone should teach you some manners."

Jimmy snorted. "Not you."

"We'll see about that, 'Master Goldilocks.'"

Jimmy groaned at the nickname.  Thomas had coined it one day after reading the fairytale to Lady Mary's son, young Master George, for the umpteenth time, and seeing how Jimmy had reacted to it (with a cringe and a groan), he now used it to annoy him whenever the occasion called.

"Yer birthday is coming up Saturday," Jimmy said. "I talked t'Carson, and we both 'ave the day off. I want ya t'hold the day fer me."

"Oh?" Thomas was intrigued. "And what have you planned?"

"You'll see," Jimmy said, grinning again.

"Not even a hint?" said Thomas.

"Well, it's somethin' outdoors," said Jimmy. "Seein' how you'll be an old git soon and likely gettin' the gout and usin' a cane, I figured we should do somethin' outside while yer still able."

"I'm only eight years older than you, Jimmy."

Jimmy snorted. "A lifetime."

Thomas blew out a long stream of smoke in Jimmy's face.

"Just hold the day for me," Jimmy repeated.

"The whole day?" Thomas asked.

"Aye," said Jimmy, and he strutted back inside the house, little rooster that he was.

Thomas finished his cigarette. At times he still couldn't believe this was real--he and Jimmy--even though it had happened slowly, over the course of a year, unfolding delicately and beautifully like a rose.

After the episode at the Thirsk Fair, he and Jimmy had embarked on a tentative friendship, with Jimmy reading the paper to Thomas as he recovered from the beating he'd taken under the bridge.

Then came card games played into the wee hours. The conversations would invariably turn from current events to more personal topics like experiences, childhood memories, and philosophies.

Jimmy found himself returning from his dates with Ivy or other local girls increasingly dissatisfied, wishing he had spent the time with Thomas instead.   _What would Thomas think of this picture_? he'd wonder while sitting next to his date in the theater. When something humorous or interesting would happen, he'd make a mental note to share it with Thomas. Upon returning he would stop by Thomas' room, and they would share a drink from Thomas' secret liquor stash as Jimmy told him about the evening.

There were the shared jokes, usually about something Alfred had said or done. At Alfred's gaffe, Jimmy would glance over and see Thomas' expression ever frozen and professional, but his blue eyes would be laughing when he met Jimmy's gaze.

Finally, there was the physical attraction. Jimmy found himself appreciating that not only was Thomas indeed a handsome man, but he wanted to be _close_ to him.

Hands would "accidentally" touch, bodies would brush up against each other in passing and there would be body heat felt and the intoxicating scent of day-old cologne.

Jimmy found his sleep interrupted by increasingly lurid erotic dreams involving Thomas. He'd awaken sweaty and uncomfortably aroused until finally, one evening, emboldened by wine, he'd pulled Thomas into the empty green room, locked the door, and kissed him.  They'd stayed in that room for a good fifteen minutes, and upon exiting, there was no doubt their romantic feelings for each other were mutual.

Since then they had taken their moments when and where they could: kissing, touching, and oral pleasure. The danger of getting caught lent an urgency to those moments and heightened the senses.

The truth was most of the Downton staff knew that the situation between Thomas and Jimmy had changed, but both had become so much more agreeable and easier to work with that nobody seemed to mind. Not that it was ever spoken of openly, It was just...understood.

That night in the dining room, Thomas and Jimmy stood by in attendance. Carson rounded the table pouring the wine. Jimmy caught Thomas' eye, winked, and then grinned until Carson gave him such a look that Jimmy immediately wiped the grin off his face and straightened up.

 _Arrogant little cockerel_ , Thomas thought. _Going to get himself sacked one of these days_....

Jimmy's arrogance was another thing that Thomas had come to better understand.  One late night, shortly after the fair, Thomas had been fishing around, looking for some chink in Jimmy's emotional armor. "We both like to look sure of ourselves," he'd said to Jimmy, "but we're not so sure underneath, are we?"

"On the contrary," Jimmy had said. "I 'ave to be sure of myself, Mr. Barrow, because there is nobody else."

That's when Thomas realized that under the lovely facade, Jimmy was a scrapper.  While Thomas plotted and schemed, Jimmy used his beauty and charm to make his way in the world. So far, Jimmy had done fairly well for himself. Thomas was impressed and intrigued.

Another night, they'd both gotten so drunk that Thomas had revealed to Jimmy the shameful story about how he'd been shot through the hand during The Great War (while holding up a lighter from the trenches hoping the flame would be targeted by a German, which it was).

Jimmy had talked about his mother's death from influenza, becoming so emotional that he'd ended up sobbing on Thomas' shoulder and being sick on him before passing out. The next morning a sheepish Jimmy had apologized to Thomas for his display and for vomiting on him, but Thomas had been very kind, secretly welcoming the chance to see more of Jimmy's elusive heart.

Once Jimmy realized that he could trust Thomas, he began to reveal more of himself. The facade was still there, but it would come down for Thomas, allowing intimacy to take hold and grow.

Thomas had never experienced anything like it. His summer fling with the Duke had been extremely superficial and his feelings for him shallow compared to the depth of emotion he had for Jimmy. Thomas knew Jimmy cared for him, too--loved him, in fact--but he knew he loved Jimmy more.

It almost frightened him sometimes, his feelings for Jimmy, as such love gives the subject the upper hand. Thomas could be hurt, not only _by_ Jimmy but _for_ him, as well. Jimmy's pain was his pain now, Jimmy's problems became his own.  It was a responsibility--a bittersweet burden--he gladly bore.

As if he had any choice in the matter....

@@@

On Tuesday, Lord Grantham informed everyone he was going to London for a short business trip, and Thomas was going with him. They would leave early Wednesday and return Friday evening.

Wednesday morning, Jimmy helped Thomas put the few bags into the boot of the car.

"Just make sure His Lordship has ya back in time for your birthday," said Jimmy.

"Yes, Jimmy, I'll be sure to tell him that," said Thomas, suppressing a grin. "Or why don't you? I'm sure it will improve your already exalted standing in this house."

"Tha's quite all right, Mr. Barrow," said Jimmy. "As you outrank me in sooch standin', I'll leave it to you."  Jimmy stepped back and stood at attention, hands behind his back, looking every inch the proper little footman.

Thomas desperately wanted to kiss him goodbye, to hold him in his arms, to tell him it physically ached to be leaving him, but all he could do was nod and get into the car.

"Safe trip, Mr. Barrow," said Jimmy.

"Thank you, Jimmy." _Oh, Jimmy if you could read my mind right now_....

@@@

Seeing how Jimmy was on his own for a few nights, Ivy invited him to go with her, Daisy, and Alfred to the pub in the village for a pint and some dancing. Not that Ivy still held hopes for Jimmy--watching him and Thomas together, she'd given up on that. Still, Jimmy was a lovely dancer. He was a gentleman. He behaved and never tried to grope her bosoms or put his hand up her skirt. (WHY he never tried was not important.) And he was so handsome. Ivy loved being seen on his arm and the looks they got when they were out together. Being seen with Jimmy raised her status in the eyes of others. _Who was the girl who had nabbed such a beautiful bloke_? people would wonder. _She must be quite the lass!_ The next time she'd be at the pub without Jimmy, other blokes would approach her to dance or wanting to buy her a drink. Because of Jimmy, Ivy had more dates than she could handle.

Ivy's dancing had improved. She and Daisy had been practicing The Fox Trot and The Charleston. Jimmy had even taught her The Tango. Alfred's dancing had also improved, but he still looked rather like a scarecrow come to life. Daisy didn't seem to mind. She and Ivy would come here on their own the following week to meet all the men who would invariably approach Ivy. Daisy would usually meet a nice bloke or two herself!

At the pub, the four found a table and ordered their drinks. There was a good crowd for a week night, and American songs were playing on the Victrola.

Jimmy loved jazz. He'd been classically trained in piano as a child, but he'd developed a real affinity for rags and the newer jazz pieces. He'd amassed a diverse collection of sheet music--everything from Scott Joplin to Claude Debussy.

When a jazzy number would play, Jimmy's feet would literally start moving under the table, and they were doing that on this occasion when "Cake Walking Babies From Home" began to play.

"Ivy, let's dance," Jimmy said, taking Ivy's hand.

Ivy nodded excitedly, and the two headed for the dance floor.  Facing each other, Jimmy and Ivy clasped hands and began to Charleston to the fast number.

 _Cake walkers may come, cake walkers may go,_  
_But I wanna tell you 'bout a couple I know_  
_High steppin' pair, Debonair_  
_When it comes for bus'ness not a soul can compare_

 _Here they come, look at 'em, demonstratin',_  
_Goin' some, ain't they syncopatin'?_  
_Talk of the town, teasin' brown,_  
_pickin' 'em up and layin' 'em down_  
_Dancin' fools ain't they demonstratin'?_  
_They're a class of their own_

 _Now the only way to win is to cheat 'em,_  
_You may tie 'em, but you'll never beat 'em_  
_Strut your stuff, they're the cake walkin' babies from home_  
_Strut your stuff, strut your stuff, cake walkin' babies from home_

Alfred and Daisy were cheering the pair on, as they looked mighty fine together on the dance floor.

 _Here they come, look at 'em, syncopatin',_  
_Goin' some, ain't they demonstratin'?_  
_Talk of the town, teasin' brown,_  
_pickin' 'em up and layin' 'em down_  
_Dancin' fools ain't they syncopatin'?_  
_They're a class of their own_

 _Now the only way to win is to cheat 'em,_  
_You may tie 'em, but you'll never beat 'em_  
_Strut your stuff, they're the cake walkin' babies form home_  
_Strut your stuff, strut your stuff, cake walkin' babies from home_

The dancing had brought a glow to Ivy's perfect, rose-petal complexion, and a bit of hair had come out of her top knot and curled around her face.

Christopher Glover, a tall red-headed lad who worked as a carpenter's apprentice, was watching all this from where he sat at the bar, sipping his pint. He'd taken Ivy out once to a picture, and she'd described it as like being out with a pair of hands. She'd refused to go out with him again. He still carried a torch for her, though.

He came over to the dancing couple and tapped on Jimmy's shoulder to cut in. Jimmy bowed out so Christopher could dance with Ivy. A slower number was playing now, and Christopher pulled Ivy closer for the dance.

"You look so beautiful tonight, Ivy," said Christopher.

"Thank you," Ivy said. She was a bit uneasy dancing with Christopher but smiled anyway.

"Would you like to go to a picture with me Saturday night?" Christopher asked.

"I can't, Christopher," said Ivy. "I already have plans."

"How about another night?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Christopher leaned in to kiss Ivy, and she tried to push him away.

"Stop, Christopher," said Ivy, but Christopher kissed her anyway.

Ivy shoved her way out of Christopher's arms and headed back to the table.

Christopher followed her. "I'm sorry Ivy, I got carried away. Just one more dance." Ivy moved to sit down, but Christopher grabbed her arm. "Ivy, please...."

Jimmy finished his drink, stood up, and stepped between Ivy and Christopher.

"Ivy's done," Jimmy said. "Now why don't you find some other girl to take pity on ya and give ya a charity dance?"  
Alfred snickered into his pint.

Christopher glowered at Jimmy. Jimmy grinned up at him. "One of those Salvation Army Donut Lassies," Jimmy continued. "Ask her real nice and maybe she'll share her donuts with ya, particularly the _holes_."

Alfred erupted into uncontrollable laughter.

"You sod bastard," said Christopher, and he shoved Jimmy roughly. Jimmy shoved him right back.

"Get out of here, Christopher," said Ivy.

Suddenly the pub owner interrupted and pushed the men apart, one hand on each of them. "Is there trouble here?" he asked. "Because there'll be no fighting in my pub, lads."

"Christopher was just _leaving_ ," said Ivy.

Christopher's face was red with humiliation. He looked from Ivy to Jimmy and then stormed out of the pub.

"Guess he went to find himself a donut," said Jimmy, sending Alfred off on a whole fresh tangent of laughter.

Ivy gave Daisy a worried look, but Daisy just rolled her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Try to keep up, old man."  

Jimmy was standing at the top of the hill in tweeds and a cap, a small pouch across his shoulder, along with a canteen. It was Thomas' birthday, and they were off on a hike through the countryside. They'd gotten lucky with the weather, no rain and few clouds.

Thomas was walking some distance behind Jimmy in similar attire. He started up the low incline of the hill.

"What a slow one ya are, Thomas," Jimmy called. "You'll be ready fer the sanatorium soon enough, I'm thinkin'." He grinned his curly grin.

Thomas was watching Jimmy steadily. _Let's wipe that cocky grin off his lovely face_.  Thomas suddenly started running up the hill.

Caught off guard, Jimmy bolted through the high grass like a rabbit. He led Thomas on a chase through the fields for a good five minutes, both their caps flying off in the process.

With a sudden burst of speed, Thomas closed the gap between himself and Jimmy and grabbed Jimmy's arm, slowing him down. Thomas swung Jimmy around and pinned him back against a tree, holding his wrists together against his chest.

"Your... _manners_ ," Thomas said, trying to catch his breath.

Jimmy was breathing heavily as well, and his cheeks were flushed. His blue eyes sparkled as they focused on Thomas' face.  
Thomas didn't get to finish his thought because Jimmy leaned in and kissed him.

Thomas released Jimmy's wrists, and Jimmy slid his arms around Thomas, up under his coat. Thomas enveloped Jimmy in a hug, wrapping his coat around him, and returned the kiss. Jimmy's lips were a soft and curving delight, and Thomas suckled them as though they were some rare delicacy that he wanted to savor. Jimmy parted his lips, and Thomas sank his tongue deep into Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy made an appreciative noise and clung tighter to Thomas.

Thomas pulled back for air. "My god, you are delicious," he murmured.

"Happy Birthday, love," Jimmy breathed.

"Mmm, thank you," Thomas said, his muffled voice rising from where he was now kissing and nuzzling Jimmy's neck.

They had walked far enough into the woods that they felt safe holding hands.

"Ya know, Thomas," Jimmy began. "If anyone had told me when I came to Downton that l'd end up in love with a bloke, I'd 'ave likely broken their nose."

Thomas laughed. "You almost broke mine that night I kissed you while you were sleeping."

Jimmy grimaced. "Shite, Thomas, ya ever goin' t'forgive me fer tha'?"

"There's nothing to forgive," Thomas said.

"I was so confused," Jimmy said. "When I woke up and realized you were kissing me, my first thought was that it were rather nice. But I got angry 'cause I weren't _supposed_ to think tha'! A bloke was kissing me! I was supposed to be disgoosted!"

Jimmy regarded Thomas tenderly for a moment as they walked. The look was returned in kind.

Jimmy sighed. "You made me confused, thinkin' about things I'd never dared t'think about. And I hated ya fer tha', Thomas, I hated ya...until the fair. After that it were just too strong to fight." Jimmy looked at Thomas. "I am in love with you, Mr. Thomas Barrow, and there's no use denyin' it, especially to myself. Never felt this way 'bout anyone, lass or chap."

"Well, you know my feelings for you, Jimmy," said Thomas.

"I do like to hear you say it, though," said Jimmy.

"Of course you do, Master-"

Jimmy interrupted with a loud groan.

"Goldilocks," Thomas finished.

"Lest I get insecure," said Jimmy.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Insecure?" He shook his head in mock surprise. "You??? The preening prince of footmen? The lad who charms not only the ladies but gents, too?"

"Say it. Please...."

Thomas stopped walking. He smiled warmly and took Jimmy's face in his hands. Thomas' eyes shone as he gazed at Jimmy. "I love you, Jimmy Kent. I love you with all my heart. I adore you, Jimmy Kent, your beautiful eyes, your sunny hair, your rude but lovely mouth; I worship the water you bathe in, Jimmy Kent--should I continue?"

"No," said Jimmy with a satisfied grin. "Tha's quite enough sop. It's yer birthday, after all."

"Indeed."

"And I have a present for you. Come with me."  He took Thomas' hand and led him over to a log, where they both sat. Jimmy pulled a small box out of his pack and gave it to Thomas.

Thomas opened the box and took out a beautiful pair of cuff links. He admired them.

"These are lovely, Jimmy, thank you." Thomas leaned over and kissed Jimmy.

"Did the Duke ever give ya so fine a gift?" Jimmy asked.

Thomas guffawed. "The Duke?"

"Well, you _were_ lovers...." said Jimmy.

"You don't ever have to worry about the Duke," said Thomas. "I can't even mention you two in the same breath."

There was a little sheltered area between the bushes where vines had grown over. Jimmy spread out a blanket there and lay down on it. He took out a small jar from his pack and set it before him, looking up at Thomas with a steady gaze.

Thomas was speechless for a moment. He sat next to Jimmy and picked up the jar.

"Are you sure, Jimmy?" asked Thomas. "You don't need to do this just for me."

"I want to, Thomas," said Jimmy. "I'm ready, and I know you'll make it good for both of us."

Since the encounter in the green room, Thomas had resisted the urge to move things along, instead letting Jimmy set the pace and allowing things to progress naturally, like the opening of a flower. However with each increasing intimacy, Thomas had made certain to ensure a memorable experience for Jimmy, not only because he was in love with him but also because he wanted to guarantee repeat performances--lots of them. Indeed when he'd first taken Jimmy into his mouth, he'd driven him into such a state of ecstasy that Jimmy had been forced to clutch a pillow over his face to muffle his moans and sobs as he'd climaxed, lest he wake the entire servants' quarters.

They helped each other undress, kissing all the while.

Jimmy allowed Thomas to position his legs, trembling a bit from nervousness.

"Easy, love," Thomas murmured, gently stroking and kissing Jimmy. "You let me know if you want to stop."  Thomas dipped his fingers into the petroleum jelly and began preparing Jimmy, teasing him ever so gently until he was relaxed. He could feel Jimmy's pulse rising as he touched him, and they were both becoming aroused.

Thomas pulled back and looked at Jimmy, lying there helplessly lost in his own pleasure.  Sunlight filtered through the vines, dancing off Jimmy's tawny, flushed skin. His head lolled back, blond hair curling behind his ears, eyelids heavy, the blue of his eyes behind the fringe of thick, blond lashes, gazing up at Thomas, vulnerable and trusting, and Thomas thought his heart and body would explode with love and desire for him.

"Don't stop," Jimmy begged.

Thomas resumed their foreplay.

When Jimmy was ready, Thomas applied the jelly to himself. Carefully and gently, he entered Jimmy--just a little--and Jimmy moaned with pleasure. Thomas pushed in a bit more....

"Jimmy," Thomas moaned, as it was the most amazing feeling, being inside of Jimmy, possessing Jimmy...beautiful Jimmy.  
_Could this be happening? Was it a dream?_ Although he'd been careful not to pressure Jimmy, Thomas had fantasized about this moment for months. He'd played the scenario over and over in his head with different locations, different dialogue. Those fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing.

"Oh, god, Thomas," Jimmy moaned as Thomas moved inside of him, slowly and gently.

Thomas began coordinating his hand on Jimmy's cock with his movements inside of him.

Jimmy began whimpering with pleasure and moving his hips. He suddenly grabbed Thomas around the waist pushed him completely inside.

Thomas trembled with pleasure. "Oh, _Christ_ , Jimmy," he moaned.

Jimmy's eyes rolled up and he sobbed. " _Thomas_...."

Jimmy climaxed, and Thomas shuddered as he exploded inside of him. Thomas moaned and rode out his own climax, while deftly ensuring Jimmy maximized his.

Thomas sighed and relaxed, still on top of Jimmy, his head buried in Jimmy's neck. Finally, Thomas rolled onto his back and fumbled for a cigarette. He crossed his ankles.

Jimmy still hadn't moved. "Jesus, Mary, n' Joseph, Thomas," he finally said. "I've never come so hard in my life."

Thomas blew out a long stream of smoke. "Experience does have its benefits. Remember that next time you call me 'Old Man.'"

Jimmy raised himself up on his elbows. "So, for the next part of yer birthday present...."

"Nothing can top what you just gave me, Jimmy," Thomas said, grinning. "And I don't mean the cuff links."

Jimmy got up in Thomas' face. "Fish and chips on me."

"Fish and chips," Thomas repeated, looking less than thrilled. "What if I want something else, say, some nice roast beef or pork instead?"

Jimmy's cheeky facade returned and he grinned that curling grin. "Then you'll have to pay for it yourself, 'cause the cuff links broke me."

Thomas put out his cigarette and reached for his clothes. "You're a grand date, Jimmy Kent."

The two men proceeded to dress and then headed back towards the village.

As there was already a breeze, they didn't notice the slight rustling in the bushes and the soft footsteps that stealthily moved away.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Patmore was in a panic.

Alfred had been trying to learn from Daisy how to dance partner Charleston, like Jimmy and Ivy had done at the pub, and he'd accidentally kicked over the cooling rack, knocking the freshly baked bread into the sink and onto the floor. Steam rose as the hot bread sunk in the dishwater. Broken loaves were scattered far and wide.

Daisy was standing with both hands over her mouth.

"What in blazes were you doin' to knock the bread coolin' _here_ into the sink and onto the floor over _there_?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

"I was learnin' them Charleston kicks," said Alfred sheepishly.

"The kitchen is no place fer kickin' up yer heels, Alfred!" Mrs. Patmore yelled. "I'm makin' fresh soup for dinner, and now there's no bread to go with it! We'll need bread from the bakery in the village."

"I'll go," Alfred volunteered.

"No, you won't," said Mrs. Patmore. "You've done quite enough damage already. There's no telling what you'd come back with or where you might kick it."

Jimmy passed the kitchen in the hallway.

"Jimmy!" called Mrs. Patmore.

Jimmy poked his head in the kitchen.

"Could you run to the village and get bread for dinner?"

Jimmy looked puzzled. "I thought Daisy and Ivy just baked a fresh batch."

"They did," said Mrs. Patmore, "but Fred Astaire here kicked over the cooling rack and ruined it all."

Alfred looked embarrassed, and Jimmy fought to keep a straight face. _Another one to share with Thomas_ , he thought. "Happy to," Jimmy said, "if Alfred can finish polishing the silver for me."

Alfred opened his mouth to object, but Mrs. Patmore cut him off. "He'll finish the silver, Jimmy, no worries."  
Jimmy entered the kitchen, and Mrs. Patmore shoved her monstrous basket into his arms. "Half dozen should do for tonight, three of the sourdough, two of the brown, and one of the rye."

"Got it," said Jimmy, and he headed out the back door.

Mrs. Patmore watched him go. _If Jimmy's friendship with Thomas keeps him this lovely,_ she thought _, I don't care if they swing from the chandeliers._

@@@

Jimmy practically ran down the drive to the road, so glad was he for the chance to get outside and moving in the fresh air, dumping the horrid job of silver polishing on Alfred.

He put Mrs. Patmore's huge basket on his arm. _Like bloody Red Riding Hood_ , he thought. He didn't care how it looked, though, as long as he was out of the house.

Soon, he arrived at the village bakery and upon entering was hit by the wonderful smell. _I could live here,_ he thought. _It smells that good._

The young lady behind the counter filled his order, and he put the bread into the basket and covered it with the cloth.

"Put this on the Crawley account," he told the young woman.

"For you," she said, holding out a donut and smiling.

"Thank you," Jimmy said, taking the donut and returning the smile. He was used to women giving him free things.

Jimmy ate the donut as he left the village and headed back down the road to Downton. He walked slowly to ensure that Alfred was good and done with the silver by the time he returned. He was enjoying the peace and quiet. He hadn't seen one car since he'd started down the road for home....

"Well, if it ain't Ivy's pretty boy from the pub."

Jimmy turned to see Christopher Glover and two other men walking just behind him. He wasn't sure where they'd come from, as he hadn't heard them approaching.

"I don't want any trouble with you, Christopher," said Jimmy, quickening his pace. "I'm on an errand for the cook, and I need to get back."

"Are you helping the cook now, pretty one?" said Christopher as he danced alongside Jimmy. "I suppose that's fittin', you being a _nancy_ and all."

Jimmy got a sick feeling in his stomach. He began walking faster, but the three men stayed with him.

"Yeeees, that's right," Christopher said, nodding. "I _know_ you're a nancy, fair Jimmy. You know _how_ I know...?"

Jimmy didn't say anything. He was breathing faster and walking as fast as he could without running.

"I _saw_ you _bein_ ' a nancy!" said Christopher. "You n' your boyfriend, the other nancy with the black hair, last Saturday!"

Jimmy's heart began to race and he looked around nervously for a way to escape, but the three men had surrounded him.

"It was a most disgusting spectacle," Christopher continued. "You n' yer boyfriend were both nek-ked, lying there in the woods, sweatin' and moanin', with him feckin' ya like a woman."

Seeing the horror on Jimmy's face, Christopher felt empowered, and he laughed, eyes blazing.

"Yes, pretty Jimmy, I saw _all_ of it, the whole filthy, perversion of buggery!"

Jimmy dropped the basket and dodged between two of the men. He took off running into the woods.  The three men set off after him, like hounds on a fox.

One of the men grabbed Jimmy, but Jimmy slugged him, knocking him to the ground. Jimmy flew along the winding dirt path, but soon Christopher was at his heels.

Suddenly, Jimmy tripped on a tree root. Christopher jumped and landed on Jimmy's back, sending him crashing face down into the dirt. Jimmy and Christopher rolled around fighting, until the other two men were on Jimmy, grabbing his arms and pulling him off of Christopher. Jimmy struggled to break free. His eyes were panicked, and he was breathing fast through clenched teeth, like an animal caught in a trap.

Christopher wiped the blood from his mouth where Jimmy had hit him and looked at it. He hauled off and backhanded Jimmy across the face, splitting his lip.

"Bloody nancy bastard!" Christopher yelled. "Telling me to leave Ivy alone, high n' mighty pretty boy. And all the while you don't even _like_ girls. Ya prefer to get it in the arse from another man!"

Christopher hit Jimmy again, this time in the gut. He was livid, out of control with rage, and Jimmy was terrified. He'd never had anyone look at him with such raw hatred.

"Find myself a charity dance, eh? And a girl to pity me?" Christopher raged.

"Well, _you'll_ be the one to pity, nancy, after we get through with ya."  Christopher's eyes narrowed, and his face was pure evil. He looked at one of the men. "Put something in his mouth and get his knickers off."

Jimmy screamed as one of the men stuffed a rag into his mouth.

@@@

Mrs. Patmore was not pleased. "Where is that lad? Ya can't serve a soup with no bread."

"Ya mean Jimmy's not back yet?" Daisy asked.

"Maybe he stopped by the pub," said Alfred snarkily, "to make sure he wouldn't have to finish the silver."

"He'd best not have," Mrs. Patmore warned.

"What's this?" Thomas asked as he entered the servants' hall.

"Jimmy's not back from the village yet," said Daisy. "Mrs. Patmore sent him to get bread hours ago."

"I best go find him," said Thomas. "Please let Mr. Carson know where I've gone, Mrs. Patmore."  
Thomas got his coat and headed out back to walk to the village.

As he was walking down the gravel drive, Tom Branson pulled up alongside him in his car. "Where're you headed, Thomas?"

"To look for Jimmy," said Thomas. "He's not back from the village yet."

"I'm going to the village myself to post some letters," said Tom Branson. "I'd be happy to give you a ride."

"Thank you, Mr. Branson," said Thomas, and he got into the car.

When Thomas got to town, he first checked the bakery, then the pub. He also checked every other place he thought Jimmy might have stopped.  Thomas returned to the car. The sun was beginning to set.

"Didn't find him?" Tom Branson asked, opening the car door.

Thomas didn't look at Branson, as he was still scanning the village, hoping for a glimpse of Jimmy. "The bakery says Jimmy left there three hours ago, and he hasn't been to the pub," said Thomas.

"Come on, maybe we'll catch him on the way back," said Branson.

Thomas didn't respond. His brow was furrowed with concern as he climbed into the car.

It grew dark as they were driving back to Downton, and Branson put on his headlamps. Suddenly, the beam of light revealed something in the bushes next to the road.

"What's that?" said Tom Branson, slowing down.

"It's Mrs. Patmore's basket," said Thomas. There was an edge to his voice.

Branson stopped the car and pulled a lantern out of the back. He brought it over to where Thomas had picked up the basket. The bread had spilled out into the grass.

"Jimmy?" Thomas called. He walked off the road into the woods. Branson followed with the lantern. "Jimmy?"  Thomas continued walking. There was just the sound of the wind in the trees.  "Jimmy?" Thomas called.

"Help me," came a voice, so weak, it was barely audible.

Thomas' pulse began to race. "Jimmy?" he called, louder this time. Thomas began plowing through the bushes. The growth was quite thick, and Thomas parted it with his bare hands.

"Jimmy?" he yelled. "Jimmy?"

"Thomas?" Jimmy's voice was small and pitiful.

"Jimmy...."

Thomas suddenly broke through to a small clearing. He froze, and his heart broke at the sight before him.  Jimmy was lying face down in the dirt, his clothes torn, his thighs and bum covered in blood.

"Dear God," breathed Tom Branson.

Thomas hurried to Jimmy and dropped to his knees. Tom followed with the lantern. Thomas gently turned Jimmy over.

Jimmy's face was bruised, his lips cut, and he was bleeding from a gash on his head. He tried to open his eyes, which were swollen shut.

"Thomas...?"

"I'm here, Jimmy."

"I, I think I'm bleeding," Jimmy said. He looked down towards his thighs and gingerly touched the blood there.

Thomas pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to the head wound. He inspected Jimmy's other injuries.

"Who did this to you?" Tom Branson asked.

"It were the bloke from the pub," Jimmy said hoarsely. "Tha' Christopher who was bothering Ivy, him n' two others. I tried to run, but--" Jimmy began to cry. "Two of 'em held me n' Christopher hurt me with with some kinda tool... He _hurt_ me, Thomas." Jimmy weakly held a fist to his face as sobs wracked his body.

Thomas' jaw twitched, but he didn't look up.

Jimmy seethed with anger through his tears. "And the whole time they were laughin' and sayin' I must _really_ be enjoyin' it, bein' a nancy n' all."

"Should we take him back to the house?" Tom asked.

"He's lost a lot of blood," said Thomas, trying desperately to maintain his composure. "He needs to go to the hospital."

"Let's get him into the car."

Jimmy was trembling. Thomas took off his coat and wrapped it around him. He gently took Jimmy in his arms and began to lift him.

Tom Branson moved in to help, and they carried Jimmy back to the car.

"He saw us," Jimmy whispered into Thomas' ear.

Thomas was confused. "What?"

"On your birthday. Christopher was there in the woods and he saw us." Jimmy sobbed. "He _saw_ us."

Thomas' stomach lurched.

During the ride to the hospital, Jimmy was quiet. Tom Branson was driving very fast, and the car shook and rattled violently over the rutted road, sounding as if it might come apart at any moment.

"Am I going to die, Thomas? Jimmy asked softly. He was lying in the back, cradled in Thomas' arms. Thomas was still holding the kerchief to the gash on Jimmy's head and had stopped the bleeding. Jimmy was holding Thomas' other hand, the one with the glove. He hadn't let it go once.

"No, Jimmy." Thomas' voice was shaking. "You're not going to die." He fought back his own tears. He had to stay strong for Jimmy.

"I love you, Thomas. I want ya to know tha'. Whatever happens--"

"Jimmy, you're not going to die."

"I love you, Thomas..." Jimmy squeezed Thomas hand weakly. Then he closed his eyes.

"Jimmy...?" Thomas said. He frantically checked Jimmy's pulse. It was strong, but not too rapid, thank God. Jimmy's breathing was deep and steady. He was unconscious.

@@@

At the hospital, Thomas and Tom Branson waited for news of Jimmy. Thomas was seated slumped over, elbows on his knees, with his head in his hands. He hadn't made a sound or moved since they'd taken Jimmy in. Tom had called Lord Grantham and told him what had happened.

Finally Dr. Clarkson came out. He looked tired. At the sound of him entering the room, Thomas raised his head. His eyes were red and his face lined with worry.

"The bleeding has stopped, thank God," said the doctor. "There was internal trauma--some tearing and blood loss--but no perforation that I could see. He's very lucky in that respect. If there had been any perforation, I don't know if we could have saved him."

Thomas closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

"It will be awhile, but he should make a full recovery," the doctor continued. "I want to keep him here a week, just to make sure everything is functioning and in case he spikes a fever."

"Can I see him? Thomas asked.

"Yes, but keep it brief," said Dr. Clarkson. "He's sedated and needs to sleep."

@@@

Jimmy was lying in the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. He looked very young with his bruises and unkept golden hair. There were neat, small stitches closing the gash on his head. His eyes were red and sleepy with sedation.  Jimmy looked at Thomas as he entered the ward and tried to grin.

"They shaved 'round th' cut t'sew it up," he slurred, groggily motioning to his head. "I asked 'em t' save th'hair fer ya--" Jimmy's expression crumpled and he began to sob.

Thomas sat next to the bed, took Jimmy's hand in both of his, and kissed it.

Tears streamed from the corners of Jimmy's eyes and down the sides of his face.

"How c'anybody do this t'another person?" Jimmy sobbed.

Thomas just shook his head, holding Jimmy's hand to his lips.

Jimmy gave Thomas an anguished look. "Is this wha' it's like? Is this wha' happens to t'... our kind?"

Thomas' eyes met his. "Sometimes. It shouldn't, but it does."

"Has it happened t'you?" Jimmy asked.

Thomas nodded. "Once, years ago. But not this bad, and I was able to get away."

Jimmy stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm just sorry I couldn't protect you from this, Jimmy. I'm so very sorry."

"How could ya 'ave protected me?" Jimmy said. "By followin' me everywhere I go?"

"Well, I used to do that," Thomas said with a sad little smile.

Jimmy gently took his hand out of Thomas' and caressed Thomas' cheek. Thomas turned his head to kiss Jimmy's palm, covering Jimmy's hand with his own.

"You should sleep now," Thomas said. He leaned over and kissed Jimmy on the forehead.

"I wish ya could stay," Jimmy said.

"So do I, but you need to sleep." He brushed back Jimmy's hair.

"And what would the nurses say, eh?" Jimmy said wryly. "If they came in n' found you in my bed?"

"Nurses be damned," Thomas said. "And the rest of 'em, too."


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Lord Grantham's lawyer, George Murray, came to see Jimmy at the hospital while Thomas was there.

"So did they arrest Christopher?" Jimmy asked anxiously. "Is he in jail?"

"Not exactly," said George Murray.

"Why not?" Jimmy asked.

The lawyer sat down next to the bed. "Well, Mr. Glover is saying he observed you and Mr. Barrow engaging in 'illegal homosexual acts' last Saturday and was so profoundly disturbed by the experience, he lost control of himself when he encountered you in the road yesterday."

Jimmy's eyes grew large.

"He also claims that you propositioned him."

"Not true," Thomas said quickly. "Jimmy and I went on a walk last Saturday. We stopped several times to rest and smoke. Then, we walked into the village and had dinner. After that, we caught a ride back to Downton. That's it. There were no 'illegal homosexual acts.'"

"And I did _not_ proposition Christopher Glover!" Jimmy said. "Christopher is just angry 'cause I stepped in when he were botherin' Ivy at the pub last week."

"Hmmm, did anyone else see this incident at the pub?" asked the lawyer.

"Daisy and Alfred were also there," said Jimmy. "They saw the whole thing. And the pub owner, too. Just ask 'em."

"You take Ivy out?" asked the lawyer.

"Aye," said Jimmy. "We go dancin' sometimes or to the pictures."

"Ivy, Daisy, and Alfred then, they also work for Lord Grantham?"

Jimmy nodded.

"I'll speak with them later today," said the lawyer.

"So can I still 'ave Christopher arrested?" asked Jimmy. "Make a police report or press charges or somethin'?"

"Yes...." said the lawyer. "But I don't know that I'd recommend it. It might make certain information public you'd rather keep private...."

Jimmy glanced at Thomas, whose face was expressionless. He was steadily watching George Murray.

The lawyer continued. "Mr. Glover also claims he can describe in detail the sexual encounter between you and Mr. Barrow, and that if he is charged and goes to court, he will do so. Unfortunately the conviction rate on these types of assaults isn't very high, and even when there is one, the sentence is usually light. Are you willing to go through a very public hearing, perhaps a trial, and get very little justice and possible criminal charges _yourself_ for your efforts?"

"What would you suggest?" Thomas asked, although he already knew the answer.

The lawyer looked at Jimmy. "You weren't permanently injured, and you have a prominent and influential employer who is covering all your medical bills and will still pay your wages while you are recovering. I think you should let it go and leave it at that."

Jimmy looked confused. Tears filled his eyes, but he refused to cry. "But they hurt me," he said. "They beat me. They went into me with a bloody _chisel_. How can they just get away with it?"

"I know it's unfair," said the lawyer. "But the truth of it is you have as much--actually _more_ \--to lose than Mr. Glover does."

"Stalemate," said Thomas darkly.

It tore Thomas apart to see Jimmy learning what he had known for years, that homosexual men in Britain were not only considered deviants, but criminals, too, and as such were treated as second-class citizens when they became the victims of such crimes. Most times, assaults against them were never even reported. Thomas had never reported his.

Details of his and Jimmy's intimate encounter revealed in open court would inflame a jury and cause a news circus, not to mention that what they'd done was illegal, punishable by a prison sentence. Thomas thought about what had happened to Oscar Wilde, and he'd been famous.

Glover would get up there and talk about how traumatized he was, how seeing such "perverse" and "unnatural" acts disturbed his delicate sensibilities. He'd no doubt put on quite a show, as his sort always did. When it was over, Glover would end up with a slap on the wrist, while Thomas and Jimmy were charged with "gross indecency" or worse, "sodomy," the latter carrying a life prison sentence.

It would be yet another case of putting the victim on trial, of the victim _becoming_ the criminal. Glover was indeed no fool. He knew exactly what he was doing.

@@@

When Thomas returned to Downton, he made himself a cup of tea, though he wished to god he had something stronger. He usually hid liquor in his room, but Jimmy liked to drink it, and he hadn't had a chance to replenish his supply.

Carson came into the kitchen. "I heard the news," he said. "And I must say, I believe it is probably for the best."  
Thomas looked at him.

"Not pursuing this matter legally," Carson clarified. "As the resulting trial would undoubtedly engulf this house in scandal."

Something snapped in Thomas. "I don't care about the house, Mr. Carson," he said. "I care about Jimmy and what he's been through. I care about what's best for him."

"I am truly sorry for what happened to James," said Carson, "but you must understand, this kind of thing _upsets_ people. It's not part of the 'natural order.'"

"Natural order?" Thomas yelled. "What kind of 'natural order' allows for a man to be beaten within an inch of his life simply because of who he loves?"

"Watch your tone, Mr. Barrow," Carson said. "His Lordship is supporting you and James throughout this ordeal, but I wouldn't push my luck."

"Are you threatening to sack me, sir?"

Carson was taken aback.

Thomas continued. "Because if you are, then sack me. I truly don't bloody care, at this point."

Thomas stormed out of the servants' hall but was stopped by Mrs. Hughes. She touched his arm. "Thomas, it's not that Mr. Carson doesn't care about Jimmy--we all do--he's just of the old ways. Unfortunately most other people are, too."

"That attitude represents everything that's wrong with this situation, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas said. "Our kind never gets a fair deal. Even when we're the victims, the law hates us."


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few weeks, Jimmy's wounds healed. The hair grew back where it had been shaved, the curvy lips became smooth again, and the ugly, purple bruises faded from his golden skin.

But he wasn't the same Jimmy at all.

He still managed to grin, but it never quite reached his eyes, which were now always sad and guarded. They never sparkled but were dull, like a rainy sky.

Sometimes Thomas would catch Jimmy staring off into space with an expression so raw and anguished, it broke his heart.

Jimmy slept a lot, too. He used to love staying up late with Thomas in the servants' hall, playing cards, talking, smoking, making fun of the other staff, or Jimmy would just play the piano while Thomas read the paper. It was a time they both looked forward to, their favorite part of the day.

Now, after Jimmy had finished his work, he retired immediately to his room, and when Thomas would check in on him, he would find Jimmy dead to the world, clutching the pillow over his head, his legs tangled in the sheet and blankets as if he were fighting some imaginary tentacled monster in his dreams.

On his days off, Jimmy never wandered far from Downton, either walking the grounds with Thomas or kicking the rugby ball around the fields in back.

He never wanted to go into the village. Even with Alfred, Daisy, and Ivy, he refused to go.

One afternoon, when Mrs. Patmore asked Jimmy to run an errand for her, Jimmy reacted with panic, making excuses--he didn't feel well, he'd hurt his knee--and there was real fear in his eyes. Jimmy excused himself immediately, hurried outside, and became violently ill in the bushes.  Mrs. Patmore stood in stunned silence, her eyes like saucers, and Thomas immediately volunteered to run the errand instead.

Jimmy couldn't bear to be touched below the waist. He wanted to be held, and kisses were fine, but if Thomas' hands wandered, Jimmy would flinch or tense up, and Thomas would immediately move his hands away.

Thomas had never felt so helpless. He had no clue what to do, how to help Jimmy. He felt like he was losing him, losing Jimmy to this fear, as Jimmy retreated further and further inward.

@@@

Thomas was outside smoking one night, lost in his thoughts, when he heard a voice nearby.

"Be patient, Thomas."  It was Anna. She came to stand beside him.  "With Jimmy," she clarified. "It takes a long time to get past something like this, trust me, I know."

"Patience is a virtue," Thomas said dryly. He took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled. "And I've never been known for my virtue, now, have I?"

"What matters is having someone who loves you unconditionally and won't give up," said Anna. "I had Mr. Bates, and Jimmy has you."

Thomas looked at her, and she smiled.

"I _see_ how much you love Jimmy," Anna said. "It shows on your face every time you look at him. I also see the same when he looks at you."

Thomas scoffed. "A lot of good it's done him. Jimmy was beaten because he cares for me, and now I can't even help him."

"You _are_ helping him just by being there," said Anna.

"Jimmy's all broken inside," said Thomas. "And he's afraid, he's _so_ afraid." He shook his head and took another drag off his cigarette. "I can't fix either of those things."

"Give it time," said Anna, touching Thomas' arm. "Jimmy will heal, and he'll feel safe again."

"Ah, but he _won't_ , Anna," said Thomas. "He _won't_ feel safe again because neither of us _is_ safe. By loving each other, we're breaking the law, and that makes us forever vulnerable. That's the ugly truth of it. Jimmy will never _truly_ feel safe again, and I _can't_ change that. Nobody can."

"You're right, Thomas," Anna admitted. "You can't change that, and you can't fix the hate in other people's hearts. But you _can_ be there for Jimmy."

"But is that really _enough_?" Thomas mused. He blew out another stream of smoke. "Frankly, I don't know if it is."

"It was for me," said Anna. "Jimmy's situation is a bit different, but I think it'll be for him, too, in time."

Thomas tapped off his ashes.

"You can't change the world, Thomas," said Anna, "but you can be there for the ones you love and do whatever you can for them. That you can _always_ do."


	6. Chapter 6

With Jimmy sleeping so much, Thomas found his evenings free, and he often took long walks. The woods were beautiful, and normally he would have found his walks in them restful, but he kept flashing back to that horrible moment when he and Tom Branson had found Jimmy. He couldn't get it out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. The blood. The marks on Jimmy's body, the beautiful body that Thomas always treated with such reverence. Jimmy's face when he'd turned him over. His eyes--oh, those deep blue eyes--pleading for help and crying in pain. Those eyes were never happy anymore. Christopher had not only violated Jimmy's body, but he'd taken Jimmy's joy, his spirit, and his security as well.

Christopher had destroyed a man's life-- _two_ men's, actually--and gotten away with it. He and his friends had vented their vile hatred of someone different from themselves with no repercussions. Perhaps they had done it before, there was no way of really knowing, as these types of assaults were so rarely reported. Christopher undoubtedly thought himself very clever. He had essentially blackmailed Jimmy with his love for Thomas, thereby leaving Jimmy's life in ruins, while he, Christopher Glover, was free as a bird.

Thomas kept thinking about all this over and over and coming back to the same conclusion.

Christopher Glover needed to _die_.  
Slowly and painfully, preferably.

But he remembered that business with Bates, Anna and Mr. Green. The law had been all over Bates, and he hadn't even been the one who'd murdered Green. Bates had a prison record, though. But the police didn't know that Anna had been raped by Green, so in their eyes, Bates didn't even have a motive. But still, they suspected him.

Thomas definitely had motive, so there must be absolutely _nothing_ linking him to the murder. There must be no trace whatsoever that he'd been at the scene.

He would also need an alibi--a strong one--one that nobody would question the veracity of.

But how could he have an alibi while he was murdering Christopher Glover? Getting someone impartial to lie would be next to impossible, and there was always the chance the person would eventually talk.

What he needed was two Thomases...

Or, to be in two places at once....


	7. Chapter 7

On his walks, Thomas sometimes went to the pub in the village. The owner was a friendly bloke named William Willoughby.

After the pub had cleared out, William and Thomas would play cards and talk for awhile before William closed up. William was a widower who had deeply loved his wife, and he was obviously glad for the company. William would drink as they played and eventually fall asleep there at the table, with his head on his arms. Thomas would then let himself out, locking the door behind him.

Thomas felt for William, as he, too, knew what it was like to be lonely. He couldn't imagine ever losing Jimmy. The idea was too painful to even contemplate.

The pub had a grandfather clock similar to one in the upstairs hall at Downton. It was a mechanical clock, as most of them were.

Thomas' father had been a clockmaker. Thomas had grown up observing and eventually helping him make and fix clocks. He'd planned to be a clockmaker himself, but somehow had ended up in service instead....

At Downton, Thomas was known as the clock expert and did all the maintenance and repairs on the clocks, including several of the newer quartz clocks, though most were the older mechanical kind.

Thomas remembered how he'd taught Jimmy to wind and set that upstairs clock, guiding Jimmy's fingers to move the hands just so. He remembered how good Jimmy had smelled, the way his gold hair had curled behind his ears in spite of the pomade, and the earnest and sweet way he'd focused on what he was learning. Thomas remembered his hand on Jimmy's shoulder and how he'd so wanted to touch his cheek. Now that seemed so long ago.

Those mechanical clocks were notorious for getting out of sync. Thomas remembered his father syncing clocks, and young Thomas had synced them as well, so common was the request. It was a matter of moving the hands and lining them up just so, and there were a few other tricks, too, if the clock was proving difficult.

You could also _un_ -sync a clock so it would chime the _wrong_ number of times. For example, chiming eleven when it was really ten. Or chiming at odd times during the hour. Again, it was all about positioning the hands just so, in the right way and in the right sequence.

Thomas sipped his pint and watched William over at the bar serving his customers. He was an older gent, 60's perhaps, and his eyesight wasn't keen, especially for distance.

The chiming could be confusing if you couldn't see the clock face. If the room was dark and you'd been sleeping, drinking, playing cards, or otherwise preoccupied, you might not realize the chime was wrong. This was especially true at night, when there wasn't the movement of the sun and changing of the light to help you.

The clock in the pub was over in the corner. One night, after William had fallen asleep at the table, Thomas went over to examine the clock face. He opened the glass; the hands moved easily. It was nearly identical to the clock at Downton.

After he returned to Downton that same night, Thomas went upstairs to the clock in the hall. He was careful to be quiet and not be seen. He opened the clock and unsynced it to chime an hour later than the actual time. Then he moved aways down the hall and waited.

Sure enough, at midnight, the clock chimed only once.

Thomas quickly resynced the clock. It took him only a matter of seconds. He would check it tomorrow to ensure it was chiming correctly, but he was nearly certain it would. He had synced this clock for many years and could do it in his sleep.

He thought about the clock in the pub. He could just turn the clock ahead an hour, let it chime, and then reset it back to the actual time before he left. If William had been younger with keener eye sight, this is likely what Thomas would have planned instead, lest William happen to look at the clock.

But for Thomas the unsyncing and syncing was much easier, as he could do this in a matter of seconds.

He would arrive at the pub around 9 and stay until midnight. William usually went in the back to restock his bar around 11. Thomas would then unsync the clock to chime an hour later. It would chime one a.m. when it was actually midnight.

He would monitor William's drinking that night. Thomas wanted him to drink enough to lose track of time and eventually fall asleep, but not so much that he wouldn't clearly remember the clock chiming one a.m. After William fell asleep, he would sync the clock to chime correctly.

That would give him roughly 60 minutes--45, to be safe.

Afterwards he would ensure he made a noisy entrance at Downton, enough to wake up at least a few of the servants and ensure that they saw him and noted the time. He usually got in late from the pub, anyway, so there'd be nothing unusual about that.

Thomas had learned that Christopher Glover lived in a room next to the carpentry workshop he apprenticed at. Thomas had also learned that Christopher enjoyed his liquor--a lot--and went out drinking most nights, getting in around midnight.

Thomas still had a small bottle of Chloroform from his days as a medic during The Great War. He would wait for Christopher to come home and go to bed, give him time to fall asleep, and then slip into his room. He would use the chloroform to ensure Christopher was out, tie him up with cord from the shop, and murder him. Thomas would take some valuables and dump or bury them somewhere they would never be found, so it would look like a robbery.

He would slit Christopher's throat. He imagined it with great satisfaction. He would revive Christopher--after gagging him, of course--and tell him _exactly_ what he planned to do to him. He wanted to instill in Christopher the same terror Christopher had instilled in Jimmy before he'd violated him.

Thomas wanted to do the actual killing slowly to draw out Christopher's agony, to watch the panic in his eyes as the life drained out of him, but Thomas knew the less time spent at the scene, the better.

_I want Christopher to know it's me killing him but no one else._

That included Jimmy. He must never tell Jimmy that he'd killed Christopher. Not only did Thomas want Jimmy to have complete deniability, but he also didn't want to _burden_ Jimmy with the knowledge, either. Yes, Christopher deserved to die for what he'd done, but still, it was _murder_. Jimmy had been through enough without carrying that around with him, as well.

This was one secret Thomas would take to the grave.

He would wear black, a cap over his hair, gloves, and cover his shoes while inside the workshop to obscure the size and pattern of the soles.

He would pick a rainy night, the next very rainy night, so there would be no footprints outside the workshop.

The police would absolutely question him, but upstanding Downton village citizen William Willoughby would _swear_ that Thomas had been with him until after one a.m. playing cards and drinking, and that wouldn't allow enough time between Thomas' leaving the pub and arriving at Downton for him to have murdered Glover, even if he'd driven. It wouldn't even be close because Christopher lived on the far side of the village.

It was perfect.  
It was brilliant.  
It would work.

Thomas remembered what Anna had said about not being able to change the world, but doing whatever you could for the ones you love.

 _Jimmy, this I can do for you. You will indeed have justice, my love_....


	8. Chapter 8

The next very rainy night came early the following week.

_I'll never have a better night than this one_ , Thomas thought as he dressed in black to go to the pub.

He packed gloves, covers for his shoes, the chloroform, several rags, and a surgical scalpel, yet another "souvenir" from his time working in the hospital. It would cut cleanly, as Thomas didn't want blood on his clothes, though the raincoat would repell it, and he planned on washing his things in the bath after he returned to Downton.

He arrived at the pub around 9, just as he'd planned.

After the pub cleared out, he and William played cards and had their drinks. Thomas drew William into telling stories about his youth, and William did not drink quite as much, so involved was he in the storytelling.

Around 11 William went in the back to retrieve more stock for his bar, and Thomas unsynced the clock to chime once at midnight.

When the clock chimed once, William remarked on how time had flown, and he and Thomas proceeded to play another hand. Soon though, as usual, William was asleep at the table.

Thomas resynced the clock to chime correctly and let himself out of the pub, locking the door behind him, as usual.

Thomas hurried through the rain to the carpentry workshop, taking back ways and alleys, ensuring he wasn't seen and obscuring his face in the event that he was.

When Thomas arrived at the carpentry workshop, both the workshop and Christopher's room were dark.

_Either he's still out drinking or in bed already,_ Thomas thought. _Let's hope it's the latter, as time is of the essence._

Thomas picked the lock to the workshop door, slipped the covers over his shoes, and stepped inside. He could hear Christopher snoring from inside his room. Thomas stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Thomas picked up a skein of cord from the workbench. He moved to the door of Christopher's room, quietly jimmied the latch, and listened again.

Christopher was still snoring.

Thomas slowly opened the door and stepped into the room.

Christopher was in bed, lying on his back and snoring loudly.

Thomas pulled out the bottle of chloroform and a rag from his bag. He was just about to open the bottle, when suddenly, there was movement in the bed next to Christopher.

_Christopher wasn't alone. There was someone in bed with him._

Thomas took a step towards the bed.

There, lying next to Christopher, was a woman.

The woman moved in her sleep, turning her face upwards, and though it was dark and rainy outside, there was enough light that Thomas could see the contours of the woman's face.

Thomas furrowed his brow. _A prostitute?_ In the darkness, Thomas crept a bit closer to get a better look.

It was Mrs. Granger, the carpenter's wife. Christopher Glover was bedding his employer's wife.

Thomas almost made a noise, he was so astonished.

If the circumstances hadn't been so tragic and his current situation so precarious, Thomas would have laughed out loud at the sheer irony and hypocrisy of it.

Christopher was an adulterer. He had attacked Jimmy for being a homosexual while he, Christopher fecking Glover, was an adulterer.

Wasn't it always types like Christopher who condemned the loudest? Those who had the most to hide?

Thomas stood there with the cord over his arm and the bottle of chloroform in his hand. He couldn't very bloody well murder Christopher with Mrs. Granger lying there right next to him.

_Well, I could murder him and make it look like the carpenter did it_ , he thought.

But Thomas liked the carpenter, Geoffrey Granger, and didn't want to set up an innocent man.

_Poor chap has enough troubles if his wife is shagging this rotter._

Thomas suddenly realized how far he'd come as a human being. A few years earlier, he'd of had no qualms about setting up Geoffrey Granger for Christopher's murder, if it would've helped advance one of his schemes.

_Maybe there's hope for my virtue after all,_ Thomas thought, smiling to himself.

He would've loved to have shared this delicious discovery about Christopher with Jimmy, but Jimmy wasn't supposed to know Thomas was there in the first place, and he still planned on murdering Christopher Glover.

The _adulterous_ Mr. Christopher Glover....

He just wasn't going to murder him on that particular night

Thomas put away the chloroform and left Christopher's room. He set the skein of cord back on the workbench, removed his shoe covers, and exited the workshop, closing the door behind him.

As he stood in the rain, Thomas allowed himself a few moments to chuckle before he began the trek back to Downton.


	9. Chapter 9

Jimmy had been holed up at the Downton estate since he'd returned from the hospital. After much cajoling and coaxing, Thomas finally convinced him to venture into the village for lunch, as they both had the day free, and Thomas desperately wanted to get Jimmy's mind off things and raise his spirits.

As they walked along the road, Jimmy seemed to relax. The sun had finally peaked out from behind the clouds, and Jimmy took off his cap and tilted his face upwards, a bit of a grin playing on his curvy lips.

Thomas glanced over at him longingly. _I so want to hold his hand, but I can't. I love him, and I can't even hold his hand...._

One of the cottages they were approaching was having work done; you could hear hammering clear down the road. As they drew closer, Thomas could see that new shutters were being put up, and the work was being done by a tall, red-haired young man....

Christopher Glover.

_Bloody hell_ , thought Thomas. "Let's go this way, Jimmy," he said quickly, trying to steer Jimmy off the road and onto a path. "The woods are so lovely today...."

"No," said Jimmy, who unfortunately had also seen Christopher. "We're going the way we planned."

As they passed the house, Christopher looked up from his work, his face registering surprise, and then his eyes narrowed and followed the two men. "Ah, the nancies are out for a stroll."

Thomas glanced at Jimmy uneasily, but Jimmy was ignoring Christopher and staring straight ahead. He and Thomas continued walking.

They had just about cleared the house when Christopher pulled out a chisel-- _the_ chisel. He dangled it from his fingers. There was an evil smirk on his face. "Bring back sweet memories, love?"

Before Thomas knew what was happening, Jimmy had jumped the picket fence and charged into Christopher like a bull, knocking him to the ground. Jimmy began pummeling Christopher's face with his fists, and then he and Christopher rolled around on the grass slugging it out.

Thomas had never seen Jimmy like this. He was wild-eyed with rage, a man possessed. The blows from both men were flying so fast that they became one tangle of legs, arms, and fists, thrashing about on the grass.

As much as Thomas hated Christopher Glover and wanted to see Jimmy beat him to a bloody pulp, he knew that no good could come of this fisticuff and that he needed to stop it. But the two men were like rabid dogs, ripping into each other. There was literally no space between them, and they had accelerated to a point where they'd become a blur.

Suddenly Christopher's hand found the chisel, which he'd dropped in the grass when Jimmy had slammed into him. Jimmy intercepted Christopher's wrist and wrested the chisel from him. Jimmy had a look on his face that did not belong there--savage and murderous, like some kind of deranged cherub. Jimmy clenched the chisel in his fist, bared his teeth, and raised his arm over Christopher.

Thomas heard himself yelling, "Jimmy, _Nooooooo!!!_ " He wanted to add, _Not here, not now! Let me do it my way!_ Thomas came crashing into Jimmy, knocking the chisel out of his hand and sending him flying off of Christopher and back onto his arse in the grass.

Jimmy sat there stunned, his eyes huge, his mouth agape, like a fish.

Thomas lay on top of Christopher's stomach, face down and sideways, making a cross of their bodies. He was trying to catch his breath.

Christopher didn't say a word. He was breathing heavily, his eyes steadily on Thomas.

The three men lay in their respective positions--stunned, silent, and staring at each other--for what seemed to Thomas like an eternity but was actually just a few seconds.

Giving Christopher Glover a look of pure loathing, Thomas got to his feet and brushed the grass off his suit.  He went to Jimmy, who was still sitting on the grass with his mouth open, and held out his hand. "Come on, get up."

Jimmy took Thomas' hand, and Thomas roughly pulled him to his feet. He firmly grabbed Jimmy's arm, then led him out of the yard and back down the road towards home.

When Thomas looked back, he saw Christopher still lying there on the grass, propped up on his elbows, watching them.

Thomas and Jimmy walked the remaining way to Downton in silence. When they got there, Jimmy immediately went upstairs to his room and slammed the door. Thomas went up to check on Jimmy later and found him sleeping--as usual--with the pillow pulled over his head.


	10. Chapter 10

Later that day, Jimmy woke up and went downstairs. Having never gotten to the village for lunch, he was famished and hoped to get something to eat before dinner.  He heard excited voices coming from the kitchen: Mrs. Patmore, Ivy, and Daisy.

Ivy turned when she heard Jimmy enter the room. "Jimmy, did you hear?"

"Hear what?" Jimmy asked as his stomach growled.

"Christopher Glover is dead!" Ivy continued. "He was found dead inside the house he was working at this afternoon!"

Jimmy's heart skipped a beat. "But how? How did he die?"

"They don't know," said Mrs. Patmore, "but he looked like he'd been beaten. Fresh bruises and blood on him. The police think it might have been foul play!"

"The police are questioning the neighbors," said Daisy, "seein' if anybody saw or heard anything."

Jimmy was no longer hungry. Trying not to show his alarm, he went back upstairs and burst into Thomas' room.

Thomas was lying on his bed reading the paper. He looked up in surprise when the door flew open and struck the wall.

"Jimmy, what's _wrong_?" Thomas asked, seeing Jimmy's ashen face.

"Christopher Glover is _dead_!"

Thomas shook his head in disbelief. " _What???_ "

"He's _dead!_ " Jimmy babbled. "Christopher is _dead!_  They found him inside that house he was working at _dead!_ "

"But how???"

"They're not saying or they don't know, but the police saw all those bruises and cuts from the fight, and they suspect foul play!"

Thomas didn't say anything, but his expression was serious.

"The police are out questioning people," said Jimmy, the panic rising in his voice. "God, Thomas, what are we going to do???"

"First, we're going to calm down," said Thomas. "We don't know that anyone saw us there, and even if they did, we still left Christopher very much _alive_."

Jimmy opened Thomas' top dresser drawer and fumbled around, tossing out underwear and ties.

"Jimmy, what are ya doin'?" asked Thomas. "What are ya lookin' for?"

"Whiskey," said Jimmy, moving on to the next drawer down. "Where the bloody hell is your whiskey?"

"It's right here," said Thomas, reaching behind the bed and retrieving a bottle. He held it out, and Jimmy grabbed it and took a long swig, straight from the bottle. When he looked down, Thomas was holding out a glass to him, which he set down on the nightstand.

"Guess you won't be needin' this," said Thomas.

"What are we going to _do_???" asked Jimmy, still agitated.

"Nothing for now," said Thomas. "We're going to keep quiet and see how this plays out."

"Plays out?"

"Yes," said Thomas. "Maybe the police will find the _real_ killer. We're definitely not the only ones who would've wanted Christopher dead."

The certainty with which Thomas said this made Jimmy stare at him.  
"Why do you say that?"

"I mean that Christopher Glover was bedding his employer's wife," said Thomas.

Jimmy's mouth fell open in shock. "How do you know?"

"I just _do_."

"Christopher was _screwin'_ Mrs. Granger...??? Jimmy said.

Thomas nodded.

"What a bloody fecking hypocrite," Jimmy said angrily.

"My sentiments exactly," said Thomas. "Maybe Geoffrey Granger found out and offed Christopher in a fit of rage after we left him."

"I'll bet that's what happened," said Jimmy, calmer now.

"It's definitely a possibility," said Thomas. "I'm sure we'll know soon enough...."


	11. Chapter 11

Several days later, Jimmy was upstairs working in the library with Alfred when he was summoned downstairs.  Standing with Mrs. Hughes in the servants' hall, was a man in a suit and hat.

"Jimmy, this is Inspector Doyle with York Police," said Mrs. Hughes. "He's asked to speak with you."

Jimmy thought he might be sick.

The inspector was an older gent with a calm demeanor and intelligent blue eyes.

"You can use Mr. Carson's office," said Mrs. Hughes, leading the way.

The inspector and Jimmy sat on opposite sides of Mr. Carson's desk.

Jimmy felt his heart beating in his throat.

The inspector was writing in his book. "James Kent, correct? For the record."

Jimmy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Mr. Kent, I want to ask you some questions concerning the death of Christopher Glover last Wednesday," the inspector began.

"Fine."

"You and Thomas Barrow were seen that day around 11:00 a.m. on Waverly Road near the house where Mr. Glover was later found dead, that being the Spratt cottage," said the inspector. "Where were you headed?"

"Thomas and I were walking to the village for lunch," Jimmy answered.

"Where did you have lunch?"

"At the pub."

"Which one?"

"Um, Grantham Arms."

The inspector made some notes. "Did you see Christopher Glover working at the Spratt cottage when you passed it?"

"No."

"He was replacing the shutters for the front windows," said the inspector. "He was working out there most of the morning. Are you _sure_ you didn't see Christopher?"

"I didn't see him," Jimmy answered.

The inspector just stared.

"Maybe he t'were takin' a break," Jimmy continued. "To lunch or piss or whatever."

The inspector's clear blue eyes narrowed as they studied Jimmy.

"You look like you've been in a fight recently," he said. "How did you get those bruises?"

"Playing rugby," Jimmy answered.

"I heard you and Christopher had a run in awhile back," said the inspector. "Heard it was pretty serious and landed you in the hospital."

"Yes," said Jimmy. "He attacked me because I told him to leave my girlfriend alone at the pub one night."

"So, why didn't you file a report or press charges?" the inspector asked. "That's assault, you know."

"T'were just a scuffle," said Jimmy. "And I didn't want any trouble for my employer."

"I'm sure your employer would understand your wanting justice for your attack," said the inspector.

"I didn't want no fuss."

The inspector just looked at Jimmy.

"Is it a crime to not report my own attack?" Jimmy said.

"No."

"Then I'd rather not talk about it."

The inspector continued to write in his book.

"Who's your girlfriend?" the inspector asked.

"Ivy Stuart."

"Where can I find her?"

"She works here, too," said Jimmy, "with Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen."

"That's all I have," said the inspector. "Thank you."

The inspector also questioned Thomas and Ivy. Later on, Thomas and Jimmy compared notes.

"I told him I didn't see Christopher, like we discussed," said Jimmy, referring to the discussion he and Thomas had earlier in the week to ensure that if they were questioned, their stories matched.

"I told the inspector about Christopher and Mrs. Granger," said Thomas. "I didn't say how I knew, just that the word was out."

"They're bound to get a lead on the real killer," said Jimmy. "Surely someone saw _something_."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was Granger or even his wife," said Thomas. "Lover's quarrel, perhaps."

@@@

Several days later, Inspector Doyle returned to speak with Jimmy again.  Mrs. Hughes led them to Mr. Carson's office and closed the door. Once again they sat on opposite sides of the large desk.

"Mr. Kent," the inspector began, "we have a witness who saw you and Christopher Glover brawling in the front yard of the Spratt cottage a few hours before Christopher Glover was found dead inside."

Jimmy felt his stomach turn.

"Why didn't you tell me you two had been brawling?" asked the inspector.

Jimmy just shrugged. "Didn't seem relevant," he said before realizing how ridiculous it would sound.

"Where did you have lunch again?" the inspector asked.

"Grantham Arms."

"The owner doesn't remember you being there for lunch last Wednesday," said the inspector. "You or your friend Mr. Barrow. And he knows both of you."

"He'd stepped out," said Jimmy. "We didn't see him there, either."

"The owner told me he was at the pub _all_ day," said the inspector, "because one his workers was out ill."

Jimmy was silent.

"Is there _anything_ you'd like to tell me, Mr Kent?" said the inspector. "Anything that might help clear up these inconsistencies in your story?"

"I was here asleep all of that afternoon," said Jimmy.

"After the brawl with Christopher Glover," said the inspector.

"Yes. Ask Mr. Carson."

"I will."

After the inspector left, Jimmy' stomach was in such a state, he thought he might be ill.

He considered running away. But where? And for how long? He didn't have much money saved. Besides, he was _innocent_. Thanks to Thomas, he hadn't murdered Christopher Glover.

Why, why, _why_ , were the police still questioning him? Didn't they have other suspects? Were they hounding Geoffrey Granger the way they were hounding him?

Jimmy went to find Thomas. He was worried, too.

"You were here all of Wednesday afternoon, as was I," Thomas said. "The kitchen staff told the inspector the same thing."

" _Why_ isn't he pestering Granger instead of us?" said Jimmy.

"I asked the inspector about Granger possibly being the killer," said Thomas, "and he said Granger was in Ripon all day putting in kitchen cupboards and has multiple alibis. His wife was staying with her sister in Brighton."

"What about the fact that Christopher was feckin' his wife?" asked Jimmy.

"That's why his wife was stayin' with her sister," Thomas said with a rueful grin.

"Maybe Granger hired someone to kill Christopher," said Jimmy.

"Maybe," said Thomas. "All we can do is hope that they get a lead on Christopher's real killer _soon_."

@@@

That Saturday, Lord and Lady Grantham had dinner guests. The Dowager, Mrs. Crawley, and Lord Merton were all at the table, and they were discussing the Downton Cottage Hospital.

Jimmy and Alfred were serving, and Thomas was helping Mr. Carson, as Carson's tremors were particularly bad that day.

Jimmy wasn't paying any attention to the dinner conversation, as he found it dull. He only listened when the talk focused on interesting things, like scandals and automobiles, or when there was an argument. Thomas poured the wine, and then Alfred started with the lobster tails.

Jimmy was serving the salmon mousse when Mrs. Hughes entered the dining room looking shaken. She went to Mr. Carson and whispered something in his ear. Then he, too, looked shaken. Mr. Carson went and said something quietly to Lord Grantham.

" _What?_ " Lord Grantham said in a low voice. Mr. Carson said something else to His Lordship.

Then, they all looked at Jimmy.

Jimmy felt the blood drain out of his head and thought he might pass out.

He had a sudden, insane urge to run for it--just drop the tray of salmon mousse and make a mad dash out the front door, across the lawn, and into the woods. But he knew that was crazy thinking and would only make things worse.

Mr. Carson approached him. Jimmy took one look at Mr. Carson's face and knew his goose was cooked.

"James, come with me."

_Oh, shite, oh, shite. Yer done fer sure...._

Jimmy looked at Thomas in panic.

Thomas' brow was furrowed, and he frowned as he watched Jimmy hand the salmon mousse to Alfred and leave with Mr. Carson.

When they got down to the servants' hall, two York policemen were waiting there with Anna, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. The kitchen staff stood by with large eyes and solemn faces.

"James Kent," said one of the officers, "I am arresting you under suspicion of the murder of Christopher Glover--"

"No!" Jimmy interrupted. "This is wrong!"

The other officer pulled Jimmy's hands behind his back and cuffed him.  The officer reading the arrest caution continued, "and you do not have to say anything--"

"I didn't kill him!" Jimmy yelled. "Thomas! Thomas! Tell them I didn't kill Christopher! Tell them!"

The officer continued, "but anything you do say will be taken down and may be given in evidence."

Suddenly Thomas was there trying to calm Jimmy's hysteria, as well as his own.

"You didn't kill him," Thomas said. "We'll get this straightened out, Jimmy. You're innocent."

The officers began leading Jimmy away.

"Thomas!"

"Jimmy!"

" _Thoooomaaaaas_!"

Thomas' face contorted in distress.

"No! No! I'm innocent!" Jimmy yelled as the officers took him outside. He tried dragging his feet, but the two officers just lifted him by the arms and carried him to the wagon like they'd done with thousands of other men before.


	12. Chapter 12

Jimmy was kept at the York Jail overnight, then transferred to prison to await his court date.

At the prison, he was given gray clothes to change into. Everything at the prison was gray, including the other inmates.

 _Will I be gray, too, when I get out of here?_ Jimmy thought.

Jimmy walked out into the prison yard and sat on a stone bench. The other prisoners stared at him, and he stared back. Jimmy sat up, set his feet apart, put his hands on his knees, and set his jaw. He tried to look as tough as his pretty-boy face would allow him, which, unfortunately, wasn't very.

 _Show no fear,_ Jimmy thought, _or they will eat you alive._

@@@

After the dinner guests had left, Thomas sat with Lord and Lady Grantham in the drawing room. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were there, too. Thomas had been standing, but he was so shaken by what had transpired earlier that Lady Grantham--Cora--insisted he sit down.

Thomas told them the whole story of what had happened the day he and Jimmy had been walking to the village: what Christopher had said, the fight, knocking the chisel out of Jimmy's hand--all of it. He ended with how they had left Christopher very much alive, as Thomas had turned around at one point during the walk back and seen Christopher still watching him and Jimmy.

" _Why_ didn't you tell this to the police in the first place?" asked His Lordship--Robert.

"I didn't want them to know about the brawl between Christopher and Jimmy," said Thomas, "because I was afraid they might dig around and find out why Christopher attacked Jimmy in the first place. Not because Jimmy defended Ivy at the pub, but the _other_ reason."

"Ooooh...," said Robert, raising his eyebrows in recollection.

"Other reason?" asked Cora.

Thomas paused a moment, considering his words, then spoke. "Jimmy and I are... _together,_ M'Lady."

"Yes, we all  _know_ that, Barrow," said Robert.

"Christopher saw us together on my birthday when we were off on our walk," said Thomas. "He saw us being... _affectionate_ with one another when we thought no one else was around."

Cora and Mrs. Hughes smiled compassionately at Thomas. Mr. Carson looked disgusted.

Thomas continued. "After Christopher attacked Jimmy, he used that knowledge to blackmail Jimmy into not reporting the assault."

"How horrible," said Cora. "Blackmailed with your own love."

"Exactly, Your Ladyship," said Thomas. "I honestly thought they'd have found Christopher's real murderer by now or at least had an idea of who it was. I thought it was likely Geoffrey Granger."

"The carpenter?" said Robert, surprised.

"Yes," said Thomas. "Christopher and Mrs. Granger were having a--eh-- _liaison_."

" _Really?_ " said Cora with keen interest.

"I'll have Murray look into this tomorrow," said Robert.

"Thank you, Your Lordship," said Thomas.

"We haven't forgotten your saving our Edith during the fire," said Cora. "We can _never_ do enough to repay you for that."

@@@

His first night prison, Jimmy tossed and turned for hours on the hard bed with its uncomfortable, scratchy blankets. After twisting every which way, he finally managed to doze off.

Jimmy was dreaming.... Someone was touching him, stroking his arm.... "Thomas...?" he heard himself say out loud. Jimmy was awake now and felt a hand trying to undo his pants. Suddenly, he was back in the woods, with Christopher and his friends pulling at his clothes, taunting him, holding him down, grabbing his legs....

Jimmy opened his eyes and saw the face of his cellmate, a disgusting bloke named Smitty. Jimmy shoved Smitty off of him and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Smitty by the collar and slugged him in the face. Smitty fell backwards into the toilet. He struggled to get up, holding his nose, and Jimmy could see in the dim light that he'd bloodied it.

"Come at me again," Jimmy hissed, "and I'll _kill_ you."

Smitty stared at Jimmy for a moment, then climbed back up to his bunk.  Jimmy crawled into his own bed and tried to go back to sleep, but all he could do was think about Thomas and wish to god he was sharing sleeping accommodations with _him_.

@@@

Thomas wasn't looking forward to what he was about to do, but he knew he had no choice. He was worried sick about Jimmy in prison.

John Bates was in the boot room when Thomas approached him.

"John, I know you and I haven't exactly been friends," Thomas began, knowing it sounded ridiculous, but so desperate, he didn't care.

Bates gave Thomas a look confirming that it did indeed sound ridiculous.

"You helped me once before," said Thomas. "I'm asking for your help again."

Bates stopped shining the boot he was working on to listen.

Thomas continued. "As you know, Jimmy was arrested for suspicion of murder. He'll be in prison until for he goes before a judge, and who knows how long that will be. I want him protected while he's there, and I'll pay for it."

Bates got that funny little grin on his face.

"Why are you smiling?" Thomas asked.

"I was just thinking about that last time I helped you," said Bates. "Then, I was saving you _from_ Jimmy. Now, you want me to save _Jimmy_ from prison." Bates chuckled at the irony.

"That was then," said Thomas tightly. "This is now."

"So it is," said Bates.

"We _both_ know what happens to lads like Jimmy in prison," said Thomas. " _Please_ , help me find protection for him and _soon_."

"Did he do it?" asked Bates.

"No. Jimmy's innocent," said Thomas. "He didn't kill Glover."

"He would've had every right to, you know," said Bates.

"I agree," said Thomas, "but he didn't. When we left Glover, he was alive."

Bates studied Thomas. He'd never seen him like this, vulnerable, frightened, desperate...and so concerned for someone's welfare other than his own.  Bates actually respected Thomas for coming to him, as he knew what it had taken for him to do so.

Bates also remembered what it had been like for him when Anna was in prison. How he'd worried, the sleepless nights--pure Hell.

"I'll see what I can do," said Bates.

"Thank you, John," Thomas said, relieved. " _Thank you_."


	13. Chapter 13

Two days later, Jimmy was sewing burlap bags with the other inmates when he asked to use the toilet. As Jimmy was entering the bathroom, a large man followed him in.

Jimmy went into a stall and did his business. When he came out, Smitty was standing there with another man.

"Ain't he beau-i-full?" said Smitty, reaching out to touch Jimmy's face.

Jimmy smacked Smitty's hand away. Smitty and his friend grabbed Jimmy's arms and wrestled him back into the stall.

Suddenly, Smitty was pulled off of Jimmy and thrown across the room, followed by the other man. They both hit the wall and collapsed to the floor like rag dolls.

It was the large man who had followed Jimmy into the bathroom.  Jimmy stared at Smitty and his friend on the floor, then at the large man.

"Thank you," Jimmy said to the large man.

The large man grinned. His rotted smiled looked like cave. "Name's Cyril," he said. "Someone's lookin' out for you. Stick close to me."

Word got around the prison that Cyril was protecting Jimmy, and nobody bothered him after that. Jimmy stuck close to Cyril. Cyril didn't bathe much, so neither did Jimmy. By the second week, Jimmy was smelling rather ripe, but he didn't care. He had no desire to be without his clothes anywhere in that place.

At the end of the second week, Jimmy was called into the warden's office.

"You're being released, tomorrow at dawn," said the warden.

"Why?" Jimmy asked, surprised.

"Do you really care?" asked the warden.  Jimmy did not.

The following morning, Jimmy washed his face, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He still refused to take off his clothes to shower, just to get out of his prison grays and back into his footman's uniform. The evening livery looked ridiculous on him, filthy as he was. His blond hair stood up in waves everywhere like a rat's nest, and no amount of pomade and combing would tame it.

When Jimmy exited the prison, there was a car waiting to take him back to Downton.

During the long ride home, Jimmy speculated on why he'd been released. They must have found the real killer. He wondered who it was. Had Granger hired someone? Or was it somebody else?

@@@

When Jimmy entered the Downton servants' hall that night, the staff was in the process of serving the family dinner. Alfred was in full evening livery.

"Jimmy!" he exclaimed, wide-eyed with surprise. Then he made a face. "Blimey, you _stink_!"

"Lovely to see you, too, Alfred," said Jimmy.

Ivy and Daisy both moved to hug Jimmy. Mrs. Patmore hugged him, too

"You are a tad ripe, lad," Mrs. Patmore said as she pulled away. "I don't remember Mr. Bates smellin' this bad when he came home."

"Dinna' they have showers in tha' prison?" asked Daisy.

"Yes...," said Jimmy. "It's a long story. So, did they find Christopher's killer?"

"We don't know," said Mrs. Patmore. "We just heard you were being released, but that's all."

"Where's Thomas?" Jimmy asked.

"He's in the dining room," said Alfred. "His Lordship is having a dinner party." Alfred picked up a tray of sautéed vegetables.

"I'd best get back up before Mr. Carson has my hide."

"Have you eaten, Jimmy?" asked Mrs. Patmore.

"Yes," said Jimmy. "We stopped on the drive back. What I want now is a bath."

"Good idea," said Mrs. Patmore. "You smell like one of Lady Mary's pigs."

Jimmy went upstairs to his room. He lay out his dressing gown and took off his livery, setting it on a chair. He looked at it and grimaced. Just from wearing it during the ride home, it, too, stunk and would need to be cleaned....

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened, and Jimmy turned around.  It was Thomas. He had tears in his eyes.  Jimmy crashed into Thomas, almost knocking him over in the process, and threw his arms around his neck.  Thomas held Jimmy and began kissing him fervently--his mouth, face, neck, hair--oblivious to the stench.

"Oh, god, Jimmy," said Thomas, his voice trembling. "I was so _worried_."

Jimmy was crying, too, his face buried in Thomas' neck. He could hardly speak--so overcome was he--all he could manage was to murmur, "Thomas...Thomas...," over and over again.

Thomas closed his eyes and began swaying gently from side to side, sort of like a slow dance in place, with Jimmy clinging to him like a drowning man, saying his name over and over again....

Ten minutes later Thomas retrieved the whiskey and two glasses. He poured them both a drink.

"So, why was I released?" asked Jimmy. "Did they find Christopher's killer? Did Granger hire someone?"

"Christopher's autopsy showed that he a bad heart and died of heart attack, not because of injuries from the fight," said Thomas.

"Like the Turkish Ambassador!" exclaimed Jimmy.

"Yes," said Thomas. "They missed it at first but caught it after Dr. Clarkson spoke up about Christopher's heart ailment. George Murray was the one who asked Dr. Clarkson about Christopher's health, as he didn't believe the injuries from the fight could have killed Christopher."

"Well, God bless George Murray," said Jimmy, holding out his glass for a toast.

"Here, here," said Thomas, clinking Jimmy's glass. "George Murray told us your release order was coming down. We didn't think it would be so fast, though. We got the news yesterday, and His Lordship had me arrange a car for you. I wanted to come myself, but with this dinner party and being short a footman, Carson couldn't spare me." Thomas looked at the clock. "Which reminds me, I'd best get back to serve the afters, as god only knows what Alfred will do on his own."

Jimmy grinned. "Are you referring to cherries jubilee flambé that set the table linens on fire?"

Thomas laughed.

"I want to have a bath anyway," said Jimmy. "I stink to high heaven."

"Yes," Thomas said with a grin. "I was going to ask you about that. They do allow bathing in prison, don't they?"

"Aye," said Jimmy, "but that bloke you hired never bathed, so neither did I. I wasn't keen on getting undressed for any reason in that place. And the filth made me less attractive to my fellow inmates, if you know what I mean...." His eyes met Thomas' in mutual understanding.

"By the way, thank you for that," Jimmy continued. "He saved me from a couple of real rotters in the bathroom." Jimmy blinked hard, lest he start bawling again.

Thomas smiled, his lips trembling, and nodded. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Jimmy spent a good half hour in the bath. He thought he'd never get the stench of prison out of his hair. Afterwards, he stayed in his room until everyone had gone to bed. Then, he slipped into Thomas' room. Thomas lifted the blanket, and Jimmy climbed under it and right into his arms. Thomas hugged Jimmy and kissed him.

"God, it feels _soooo_ good to hold you," Thomas whispered. "I don't think I've slept three hours total these past two weeks."

"All I thought about every night was how much I wanted to be right here in this bed with you," said Jimmy, stroking Thomas' hair.

Jimmy told Thomas about Smitty's advances on him his first night in prison.

"What is it with blokes wanting to molest me in my sleep?"

"You're especially lovely when you sleep," said Thomas, "and your mouth is _closed_." He chuckled.

Jimmy wanted to give Thomas a kick but kissed him instead.

"You don't seem to mind my mouth being open when it's on _you_ ," Jimmy said slyly.

"True," Thomas conceded.

"Thomas, I never thanked you for stopping me from stabbing Christopher with that chisel," said Jimmy. "I'd still be in prison right now if I'd gone through with that and likely never getting out."

"Believe me, Jimmy, I'd have _loved_ for you to have killed him," said Thomas, "with his own bloody chisel, no less, right then and there, but I knew you'd never get away with it."  Thomas paused a moment, then spoke. "I had my own plans to murder Christopher, you know."

"You _did_?"

"Yes, I had it all planned out. I even went there one night to do the deed, but Mrs. Granger was in bed with Christopher, so I had to call it off."

" _That's_ how you knew they were screwin'," said Jimmy.

"Yes," said Thomas. "I was going to cut his throat."

"Really???"

Thomas told Jimmy about his plan.

"Bloody brilliant," Jimmy said with admiration. "Would you have gone through with it? Would you have actually cut his throat?"

Thomas considered it for a moment. He flashed back to how Jimmy had looked at him when Thomas had found him broken and bleeding in the woods....

"Yes," he finally said. "Yes, I would have...."

Jimmy stared at Thomas in the dark. Thomas could see the moonlight illuminating Jimmy's gold hair and lashes, making them seem to glow.  

They both lay in silence, Thomas absently stroking Jimmy, and his hand moved below Jimmy's waist to rest on his cock. Jimmy flinched, and Thomas moved his hand away.  "Sorry, love," Thomas murmured.

After a moment Jimmy moved Thomas' hand back.

"Slowly," Jimmy whispered. "Slowly...."

So Thomas slowly and tenderly began to make love with Jimmy. He kissed Jimmy all over, trying exorcise all traces of the assault and the two weeks in prison. Thomas wanted to replace the memories of pain with ones of pleasure. He started with butterfly kisses on Jimmy's eyelids, then ran his tongue around the edges of his ears, gently sucking the lobes. Thomas kissed Jimmy's neck and sunk his tongue deep into Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy responded ardently to Thomas' kisses, and Thomas could feel him harden against his thigh.

Thomas moved down to Jimmy's chest, tracing the nipples with his tongue and kissing the sensitive skin under his arms. Then Thomas kissed Jimmy's abdomen and inner thighs. He took Jimmy's balls into his mouth, sucking them gently, and then kissed and caressed the area behind them with his lips and tongue.

Jimmy moaned softly with pleasure, and the sound of it brought joy to Thomas' heart.

_Yes, you are loved, my Jimmy,_ Thomas thought, _and I will never let you forget it._

Thomas took Jimmy into his mouth and slipped his fingers inside of Jimmy, moving them in sync with the movement of his mouth.

The sensation was so intense, Jimmy sobbed and reached back with both hands to grab the metalwork of the bed's headboard, clenching the bars so tightly that his arms flexed in the dim light. Jimmy's head lolled back, and his mouth opened as his breath came in gasps. "Aaaaahhh, Chriiiiist, Thomas," Jimmy whispered. Then, Jimmy hissed, arched his back, and came hot into Thomas' mouth, moaning in almost a whisper all the while.

Jimmy caught his breath and watched Thomas through slitted eyes. "Fill me, Thomas," Jimmy whispered. "You already fill my heart and mind, I want you everywhere."

Thomas prepared himself while Jimmy turned onto his stomach and arranged himself on Thomas' bed. The sight of Jimmy's beautiful back and wavy hair without any pomade nearly caused Thomas to come before he'd even gotten inside of Jimmy.

Thomas entered Jimmy ever so carefully, moving within him gently and slowly, Jimmy rocking back slightly to meet his strokes. Nothing had ever felt so good as Jimmy did that night; Thomas had been without him for far too long. Thomas came so hard, he almost blacked out, moaning long and low so as not to be heard, though his heart was screaming in his chest.

Afterwards, the two men lay entangled in each others' arms and fell asleep that way, holding each other as if they'd never let go....


	14. Chapter 14

Life at Downton continued as usual, but Jimmy was still not himself, and indeed his behavior began to change in odd ways....

One morning, Jimmy came down to breakfast in his uniform and just his socks, not even realizing he'd forgotten to put on his shoes. Other times he'd forget his tie or have his livery on wrong or not have combed his hair.

When someone would mention it, Jimmy would look at his feet or touch his hair, stare at the speaker blankly and say, "Ah, so I did." He'd say it as if it were the most normal thing in the world to come down lacking certain clothing items or basic grooming, which for someone as vain as Jimmy Kent, was definitely _not_ normal.

The quality of Jimmy's work began to suffer, as well. He'd leave a task half completed and be found wandering around outside or sitting in the corner of one of the large rooms just staring off vacantly. There were shoes half shined, silver half polished or sorted incorrectly, and things put away in the wrong place. Jimmy seemed to be just going through the motions of his daily life without actually _living_ it.

Jimmy indeed felt like he was trying to function in a thick, soupy fog. He couldn't think clearly, he couldn't stay focused on anything, he was absent-minded, forgetting things--simple things. _Why did I come upstairs?_ he'd ask himself while standing in the hallway. _What was it I was supposed to do here?_ He'd wonder what he'd done with His Lordship's shirts, only to find them in his arms. Or spend twenty minutes looking for silver polish that was sitting on the table right in front of him.

Thomas did his best to cover for Jimmy, finishing the tasks for him, but it was difficult, as Mr. Carson complained about why _both_ men's chores were taking so long to complete.

All of this was taking a toll on Thomas. He was exhausted, drained, and constantly harangued by Mr. Carson.

"Mr. Barrow!" Carson began yet again one day. " _Why_ isn't the silver set out for Her Ladyship's tea with the Dowager?"

Thomas hurried downstairs. He'd had Jimmy start the polishing that morning. When he entered the butler's pantry, the silver was only half polished, the rags and cream scattered about, and Jimmy was nowhere to be found.

Thomas looked out the window and saw Jimmy standing in the kitchen garden. He went around to open the back door. Jimmy was at the far end of the garden with his hands in his pockets, staring at the bean vines.

"Jimmy," Thomas called, "please come in and finish the silver. It needs to be set out for Her Ladyship's tea with the Dowager."

Jimmy didn't budge. He looked up at Thomas with a vacant stare, then went back to observing the vegetables.

Thomas finally lost it. He was a tired, irritable wreck.  " _Jimmy!_ " Thomas yelled. "Get in here _now_ and finish the _bloody silver!_ "

Startled out of his trance, Jimmy scowled and huffed up the garden path, his eyes flashing fire as he brushed past Thomas into the house.

 _He's actually pouting_ , Thomas thought, _like young Master George._ Under different circumstances, Thomas might have found Jimmy's pout rather erotic, but not today, when he was so weary and stressed, he could barely stay on his feet.

"Mr. Barrow!" Mrs. Hughes was in front of him when he turned around. "There's no need to be shouting and swearing across the garden like a banshee!"

"I apologize, Mrs Hughes," said Thomas. "Jimmy was at the far end, and I had to get his attention."

"Well, I think you got the attention of all of Yorkshire, as well," said Mrs. Hughes.

@@@

That night Thomas discovered all his liquor was gone. He went into Jimmy's room, where Jimmy was lying on his bed with his arms clasped behind his head and his ankles crossed, staring off into space.

"Jimmy, did you drink all the whiskey?"

Jimmy's eyes moved to Thomas. "Aye," he said. "Why?"

"Just that it was a full bottle."

"I'll replace it, if you like."

"That's not the issue," said Thomas. "The issue is that you're drinking more than usual, and I'm concerned."

"Well, you shouldn't be," Jimmy said in his cocky manner. He rolled into a sitting position with his legs crossed and reached for his cigarettes. "I'm a big boy, Thomas, I can handle m' whiskey." Jimmy saw the look on Thomas' face. "Why are ya lookin' like tha'?"

"Because you _can't_ handle your whiskey, Jimmy, but that's not the point. I'm worried about what it's _doing_ to you."

"What it's doin'," said Jimmy, "is gettin' me through the day."

"Well, we need to find another way to get you through the day because I'm not replacing that liquor," said Thomas.

Jimmy's eyes flashed fire again. "Yer beginnin' to sound like Mr. Carson, only worse," he snapped. "Naggin' me 'bout m'work, m'clothes, m'hair, m'drinkin'. What's next, the way I have a piss?"

Thomas was in no mood for Jimmy's rude mouth.

"If you start pissing the way you've been doing most everything else, then, yes, I'll nag you about that, too," Thomas said acidly.

Jimmy dropped the case of cigarettes on the bed and threw his hands in the air. " _Christ_ , Thomas!" Jimmy yelled. "Stop lecturin' me! Stop tellin' me what to do! Yer makin' me feckin' barmy!"

Thomas came to stand next to the bed.

"Look, Jimmy," Thomas began. "I _know_ you're hurting, and I'm here for you, but can you _please_ just try to meet me halfway? Or a quarter way? Or whatever you can manage?"

Jimmy was staring at Thomas now, his anger gone.

Thomas continued in the same even tone. "I'm trying to keep us both from getting sacked. I'm doing the best I can, but I'm only one man." Thomas was shaking and blinking quickly as he calmly regarded Jimmy.

Jimmy's expression suddenly softened and his eyes filled with tears. "Thomas." Jimmy stood up to embrace Thomas. "Oh, god.... My poor Thomas. What 'ave I done t'ya? I'm so sorry. I'm so, _so_ very sorry. Yes, I'll try harder, love. I'll do better. Please don't quit on me, Thomas. _Please_ don't stop lovin' me...."

Thomas put his arms around Jimmy and sighed. "Jimmy, I will _never_ 'quit' on you, and I couldn't stop loving you if I tried. You're my heart. You're _part_ of me. Sorry if it sounds soppy, but it's the truth." He pulled Jimmy back to look at him. "I need you to help me, Jimmy, because I can't do this alone. Help _me_ so I can help _you_. Does that make any sense?"

Jimmy nodded. He nestled against Thomas.  "I'm sorry fer bein' such a bastard," said Jimmy, "but I'm muddlin' through it these days, Thomas. Truly, I am. Sometimes I can barely drag m'self out of bed. Not so much my body as my _mind_."

"I know.... I know...," Thomas said, stroking Jimmy's hair.

"M'mind's tryin' to shut me down. It's like livin' in the worst London fog ya ever saw, and it never clears." Jimmy pulled back and stroked Thomas' cheek. He looked into Thomas' eyes lovingly.

"But I _will_ do better, Thomas, I promise," Jimmy continued, "no matter what it takes. It's not right fer you to be carryin' the load fer me. It's not fair to you."

"Thank you, Jimmy," said Thomas.

"Keep after me, if you see me slippin'," said Jimmy. He grinned his curly grin. "N' give me a good, swift kick in the arse if you think it'll help."

"Never," said Thomas, grinning. "There are far lovelier things I'd rather do with your arse than kick it."

Jimmy burst out laughing so hard, he had to sit down on the bed. Thomas just continued to grin.


	15. Chapter 15

Jimmy's work did improve, and he managed to finish his tasks, though he was slower than he'd been before the assault.

One day, Thomas noticed Jimmy's mouth moving as he worked. As he came closer, he could heard Jimmy muttering softly.

"Jimmy, what are you saying to yourself?" Thomas asked. "Are you praying?"

"I'm talkin' m'self through the tasks," Jimmy explained. "Keeps me focused so I can get through 'em."

"Ah." Thomas nodded and smiled. He was glad Jimmy had found something other than whiskey to help him do his work, but the idea of Jimmy having to talk himself through the day made him rather uneasy.

@@@

One evening, Jimmy played Scott Joplin's piece "Solace." It was a slow rag and one of Thomas' favorite selections from Jimmy's repertoire. Thomas entered the servants' hall and stood next to the piano to listen, resting his arms on top.

Jimmy played the entire piece flawlessly. After the final notes, Jimmy sighed and closed his eyes. "I can't see past this, Thomas," he said softly. "I'm tryin', and there's just _nothin'_ there." Then Jimmy looked up at Thomas with eyes registering profound despair, and Thomas also saw a new emotion there, hopelessness.

Thomas stepped over to put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders, and Jimmy leaned his head back against Thomas and stared blankly at the piano.

@@@

Thomas and Jimmy were playing gin one night in Thomas' room. Jimmy was dealing the cards.

"I think we should leave Downton," Thomas said suddenly. "Get a fresh start somewhere else."

Jimmy stopped mid deal and looked up, wide-eyed at this bombshell. "Leave Downton??? And go where?"

"I was thinking America," said Thomas. "New York, actually."  He tapped the ashes from his cigarette into the tray and continued to speak.  "When I was there with His Lordship last year, I took his clock in to a shop for new parts because it had been damaged during the sea voyage. The clockmaker and his wife took a fancy to me. I told them how my father had been a clockmaker and how I'd learned at his knee when I was a lad. The clockmaker was learning how to repair the newer quartz clocks, and I told him I'd had some experience with them here at Downton. He offered me a position then and there, but I wasn't interested."  Thomas took a drag off his cigarette.  "I wrote to him a few weeks back and asked if he was still interested in my working for him, and he said yes. I'd open and close the shop, help with repairs, clean up, order supplies."

Thomas laughed. "He likes that I'm English. He thinks the accent makes me sound more credible working on European clocks. He doesn't like the Germans."

Jimmy grinned. "Who does?"

"There's a room above the shop we could have. There's no kitchen, just a sink, and the bath is shared with another flat, but I'd have a job and we'd have a place to stay."

"What would I do?" asked Jimmy.

Thomas blew out a stream of smoke. "Anything you wanted, I suppose. Teach piano, maybe find a band. Or both. Lots of opportunities for talented pianists like yourself, I'd imagine."

Jimmy didn't respond.

"This isn't going away, Jimmy," Thomas said. "The cat is out of the bag and there's no putting it back. Things will never go back to the way they were, believe me I know."

"But you said that Downton was your home," Jimmy said. "That you'd put down roots and been happy here."

"Well, I'm not happy anymore, and neither are you," said Thomas. "So we need to try somewhere else."

Jimmy was quiet. Finally he spoke. "You'd leave Downton for me?"

Thomas put out his cigarette. "You mean more to me than Downton, Jimmy," he said softly.

Jimmy was affected by this. He took Thomas' hand, and Thomas gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"All right," Jimmy said. "New York, it is then."


	16. Chapter 16

The time came for Thomas to tell his His Lordship--Robert that he and Jimmy would be leaving Downton in a month for New York. Thomas had been playing in cash poker games for months, and fortunately winning, so he was able to save enough for his and Jimmy's passage from Liverpool to New York, second class. He also had enough for expenses during the waiting period in Liverpool before boarding ship--2 days--and upon arriving in New York until he was paid by his new employer, clockmaker Garrett Lowenstein.

Thomas had made the arrangements and sent a letter to Garrett Lowenstein with the details. Lowenstein had written back saying that once Thomas and Jimmy had cleared Ellis Island, Lowenstein would arrange for their transportation to the shop and the room above it.

Thomas told His Lordship--Robert the news.

"I won't say I'm surprised," said Robert. "I know that the past nine months have been extremely difficult for you and James."

"Jimmy isn't doing well, M'Lord," said Thomas. "I think we both need a change."

"When this all first happened," said Robert, "I admit I was more concerned with the potential for scandal than I was with James' welfare. For that I apologize, Barrow. To you and most of all, to James."

"We couldn't have gotten through this without your Mr. Murray," said Thomas. "Can't thank you enough for that, M'Lord."

"It was the least I could do," said Robert.

"It was much more than that, M'Lord," said Thomas. "We owe you Jimmy's freedom."

"I think it's admirable how you've looked after James during this time," said Robert. "It speaks well of your character."

"I love him," said Thomas thoughtfully. "That's what love is."

Robert considered this, obviously moved by Thomas' words.  

"Maybe in time, minds will change and then laws will follow," Robert said. "And one day society will look at you and James and see two people who care for-- _love_ each other rather than two criminals."

"And a fine day that will be indeed, M'Lord," said Thomas.

"I wish you both the best of luck in America, Barrow," said Robert, extending his hand.

"Thank you, Your Lordship," said Thomas, as he and Robert shook hands.

@@@

Two days before their departure to Liverpool, Thomas and Jimmy began packing. There wasn't much to pack: one bag each for the voyage and a single trunk between them for everything else. The trunk was on the floor in Thomas' room, and Jimmy brought in his off-season clothes, books, and other possessions he wouldn't need during the trip and began packing them next to Thomas' things inside.

"I was a real bastard to leave you like I did under the bridge in Thirsk," Jimmy said suddenly.

Thomas was sorting through clothes on his bed. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Where did this come from?"

"I was just reviewing our life here at Downton," said Jimmy.

"That's history," said Thomas. "It doesn't matter anymore. Why even mention it?"

"Sometimes I imagine what I would do differently if I could," said Jimmy. "Sometimes I wish I had it to do over again."

"Well, I certainly don't," said Thomas ruefully.

"In my version, you don't end up beaten because I help you fight off the robbers," said Jimmy. "You tell me to run, but I stay to help you fight instead. If it happened now, that's what I'd do. I'd never leave you to fight alone."

"That's lovely to hear, Jimmy," said Thomas, "but hopefully we'll never have to relive that experience or anything like it."

"Still," Jimmy said, looking at Thomas. "I want you know that you'll never have to fight on your own again, Thomas. I'll always fight with you. Us against the them."

"Who's _them_?" asked Thomas.

"Anyone who harms or intends to harm either of us," said Jimmy. "Maybe the world."  
Thomas smiled.

"We're a team now and for the rest of our lives," Jimmy continued. "Truly, I couldn't imagine it any other way."

@@@

Ivy had tears in her eyes.

She was standing with Daisy, Alfred, and the others in front of Downton saying goodbye to Thomas and Jimmy, who were catching the train to Liverpool later that morning.

Jimmy approached Ivy and smiled. "Take care, my lovely Charleston girl," he said, embracing her.

Tears rolled down Ivy's cheeks. "I'll so miss my favorite dancing partner and my protector, too," she said.

"How will we meet blokes now without you makin' us seem so fine?" Daisy asked.

"You don't need me to seem fine," said Jimmy.

"Ah, but we _do_!" said Daisy. She hugged Jimmy and kissed his cheek.

"There's always Alfred," Jimmy said. "You can step up to fill m'shoes, eh, Alfred? Though with those cricket bats ya call feet, my shoes wouldn't make it past yer toes." Daisy laughed, and Alfred grinned.

"Good luck, mate," Alfred said, shaking Jimmy's hand. "Safe voyage."

"Maybe you can all come to New York to visit Thomas and me in our flat," Jimmy said, savoring the term "our flat." "We can go dancing." Jimmy felt a lump rising in his throat. He would miss this lot.

Thomas had said his goodbyes and was standing off by himself staring at Downton. A rush of emotions flowed through him: sadness, fear, excitement, uncertainty, hope....

He'd lived at Downton for a dozen years, over a third of his life. With the exception of the The Great War, he'd never left it for longer than a week or two. He'd started out as a footman and Mr. Carson had trained him up to under butler. He'd always believed he'd spend the rest of his life at Downton.

Some his worst experiences had been in this house, as well as some of his best--he looked over at Jimmy-- _the_ best.

If you'd told him a year earlier that he'd be leaving with Jimmy for a new life in America, he'd never have believed it. He'd never have thought himself _capable_ of it.

_I've changed in spite of myself,_ Thomas thought. _I've had to_.

He'd arrived at Downton a boy and was leaving a man, a very different man than he'd been even just a few years ago. A better man, he hoped, but only time would tell....

Thomas felt a hand in his. He looked down at Jimmy, who was holding his gloved hand for all of Downton to see. Jimmy grinned at Thomas, and his eyes were still sad, but the hopelessness was gone.

Thomas didn't know what their future held, but he knew he could face it with Jimmy. That they could face it together.

As Thomas and Jimmy rode away in the car, Thomas turned to take one last look at Downton out the rear window. It grew smaller and smaller as they drove away, until the car turned a corner and Downton disappeared behind the trees.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1  
> "Cake Walking Babies From Home"  
> By Clarence Williams, Chris Smith, & Harold Troy  
> 1924


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